Virtuoso
by AcaiBowlFatale
Summary: Ed, Al and Winry are all students at the prestigious Central School for Performing Arts, majoring in dance and visual arts, respectively. Vice Principal Mustang and Artistic Director Hawkeye have been keeping everything in top shape. Until Principal Grumman returns from his absence with news that could change CSPA for good. High School AU, Performing/Visual Arts AU, Royai and EdWin
1. Chapter 1: Switchleap

_**Switch leap** : a leap that launches the dancer up and forward into a split, in which the extended legs switch places in mid-leap_

* * *

"You really shouldn't beat yourself up too much, brother. It's only day one of practicing turning switchleaps, it's ok if you don't get it right away!"

"But Al, you should have seen the way Mustang was looking at me, almost as if he were making fun of my failure!" Ed whined, slumping against his locker dramatically.

"Brother…" Al began, hiding back peals of laughter "He was laughing because you managed to switchleap yourself into the wall and knock down Ms. Curtis' framed Juilliard degree. The look of absolute horror on your face as you scrambled to pick it up and hang it on the wall was freakin' hilarious." He turned towards the wall of lockers, gently swung open his own, and placed the lock on the bench behind them.

"Hey! Listen, I saw my life flash before my fuckin' eyes, you don't understand!" Ed exclaimed, an angry flush sitting atop his youthful cheeks. "If I had broken the glass on that frame or done anything to desecrate that fuckin' diploma I would've been dead faster than you could say "jete". You know how Mrs. Curtis feels about her precious Juilliard degree." Ed stared into the depths of his open locker as hypothetical violent situations, all featuring Mrs. Curtis and a bloody pointe shoe, flashed through his mind's eye.

Al sighed, shrugging his damp white t-shirt over his shoulders and into a bag. Out of the two brothers he was certainly the most mindful when it came to their dance clothes. Al preferred to dry them between classes while Ed just stuffed them into a crumpled pile in his locker. He continued to change in silence while Ed muttered something about a _cursed petite aerodynamic body_ as he angrily shoved his right leg into his pants.

Al sat on the bench tying his shoes as he looked up at his visibly steaming older brother. By now, Al was used to Ed's rage episodes. They all start the same, with some silent steaming and quiet, muttered creative insults into the eventual detonation and subsequent yelling of said creative insults. Al thanks his lucky stars that Ed doesn't know a second language, because _holy sugar shacks_ , his fits of rage would be on an entirely different level of angst and honestly, he doesn't want to deal with that.

"AL! Are you even listening to me?!" Ed's voice breaks him out of his thoughts. Al blinks a few times, clearing the haze from his eyes and looks up at Ed who's breathing heavily with his shirt halfway on his body. Al breaks into a fit of giggles, and Ed looks at him both confused and seemingly offended at his younger brother's laughter.

It takes a second before Ed breaks, joining Al's joyous laughter with his own soft chuckles. After a couple minutes, both boys are able to catch their breath. Al looks down at his watch, and yelps realizing that they had two minutes to get to their chemistry class on the other side of campus. He slams his locker shut and grabs Ed's wrist, pulling him away from the endless rows of blue lockers towards the exit.

...

"I still don't get it!"

Al looks over from his classwork, slightly annoyed at his brother. He was supposed to be helping with their current lab work, but for the past fifteen minutes Ed had been pouting and whining about the Vice Principal and Artistic Directors' quick appearance in their morning ballet class.

"Of all classes and of all days, WHY TODAY?" Ed whined, looking over at Al for validation. He pauses for dramatic effect before continuing, nestling his cheek further into his left hand and bracing his left elbow on the table. "They couldn't have come into modern or tap/jazz? I would have settled for a solid tap/jazz class for sure. But ballet? Really? I swear Mustang's out to get me." He looked down at his worksheet for a second before pushing it away and throwing his whole upper half onto the tabletop.

"Lighten up brother, no one is out to get you, and you did great given the circumstances. Besides-" Al was interrupted by a loud crash and flailing arms as Ed's chair was suddenly swept out from under him. He looked up just in time to meet with a pair of large blue eyes, their depths sparkling with mirth and mischief.

"Winry!" Al exclaimed, grateful for her interruption. "Took you long enough to get here! I hope you got a late pass!" Winry laughs at the younger boy's statement before taking her late pass out of her pocket and shooting Al a wink.

"Nah, I've decided to face the wrath of the administration. I need a little pick-me-up, you know?" She says jokingly before heading over to the teacher's desk to hand over her pass.

As soon as she walks away, Ed pops back up from under the desk. He grumbles his way back into his seat, irritation oozing from every pore. Al chuckled to himself as he watched Ed quickly fix himself once he saw Winry was headed back for their table, paying extra attention to his favorite strand of hair.

—

"So Winry, what's going on in the visual arts department? I feel like we haven't heard from you in forever." Ed leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, right ankle placed over his left knee.

Ed won't say it out loud, but Winry makes him…nervous. He doesn't know when it started, but whenever he's around her, his palms get clammy, his mouth goes dry and he forgets how to string together coherent sentences. There's no explanation for what he's feeling, and honestly he's not sure what to call it. But if there is one thing he knows for certain, it's that his leg is shaking up a storm.

He tries to cover up the shaking by shifting his leg to cross under himself, but in doing so, he knocks his binder and everything in it onto the floor.

 _Nice going Elric_ he thought to himself, _smoother than a fresh jar of Skippy._ He quickly gets down to pick up his papers, ducking his head down to hide his flushed face. He gathers everything into a pile and turns around, only to lightly bump into something in front of him. He looks up and into sparkling cerulean eyes and he realizes he's been holding his breath. At this realization he releases his breath and quickly ducks his head the blood rushes to his face and ears.

He clutches his papers to his chest and sits back down in five seconds flat. He's still a little flushed, his heart is racing and his breathing is quick and shallow. He slowly raises his arm to his head and gently touches the spot where he collided with Winry, prodding at the tender spot. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and smiles softly, thinking about those beautiful azure orbs.

 _Gosh, what is she doing to me?_

He's broken out of his thoughts by Al's soft throat clearing, and a toothy grin.

"You guys ok? Both of you look a little dazed...what happened down there?" Al asks, not even trying to hide the mischievous tone of his voice. Ed snaps out of his haze to glare at Al, and quickly glances over at Winry. He catches the tail end of what looks like a death glare to end all death glares before she snaps her head to look at him.

Their eyes widen as they meet, gold into blue, blue into gold, a light blush sprinkling across their cheeks. But just as quickly as their eyes met, they whip their heads away to the side, hiding their red faces.

Al, who is still sitting across from the pair and has been watching this whole ordeal, chuckles softly to himself. He tears his eyes away from the oblivious teenagers and looks down at his half-completed worksheet. He resumes his work, still wondering how long it'll take those two idiots to confess. He sighs, _well I guess we'll have to wait and see._

* * *

AN: Heyooo how's it going? Having a little fun with some fma fan fic and I'm really excited to see where this will go! Thanks for reading! (◠‿◠✿)

Disclaimers: I do not own the FMA characters or plot, I'm just here to have a good time!

I will hope to update once every week or so (fingers crossed!) 3

live, laugh, love,

* +:｡.｡ABF｡.｡:+ *


	2. Chapter 2: Pas de Deux

_**Pas de deux** : Dance for two._

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Roy Mustang considered himself a rational man. He was driven, methodical, passionate and above else ambitious as hell. That's how he found himself working as the Vice Principal for the most prestigious performing arts high school in all of Amestris, Central School for Performing Arts. After retiring from his illustrious career as a dancer for the Drachma Dans Theatre following a particularly nasty spinal injury, he found solace at the hands of a kind, understanding high school principal who took him under his wing. Grumman hired him as a modern dance teacher, entrusting him with all of the dance students, from beginner to advanced. Once Mustang was able to gain his trust, Grumman trained him as his own subordinate, a perfect vice principal. Nowadays Grumman is away most of the time, managing official business with the school board and the Central School District. He leaves the school in the capable hands of Roy Mustang...and Riza Hawkeye.

He sighs as he feels his chest tighten. _Where do I even begin?_ Not too long after he became vice principal, Grumman decided that he needed another voice and opinion in his cabinet. Much to Mustang's disdain, he created the position of Artistic Director and brought in the best person he knew for the job. That person happened to be Riza Hawkeye, a former member of the Drachma Dans Theatre... and Mustang's former dance partner. They had known each other for years, through countless hours of rehearsals and late-night studio hours, and had become thick as thieves. They worked their way up through the ranks, from the apprentice company to the highest honor as soloists and principal dancers. However, after his retirement and relocation, they lost touch and hadn't seen each other in years. Until that very moment. And _oh boy_ was he shocked. Actually, I don't think there's a word in the English language for what he felt.

He had realized how much he missed her, sure. But the intense pressure on his chest, the tightening of his throat and the burning behind his eyes almost stole his ability to speak. _Riza_. Riza is here, in the flesh. He didn't get too much time to process before Grumman pushes her forward, and issues a quick introduction. It wasn't until she stumbled and quickly recovered that he realized she too was in shock. She clears her throat and straightens out her blazer, looking down at her shoes as she avoids meeting his obsidian eyes with her warm, hazel orbs. He's almost offended, but he sees the bright red tips of her ears and instantly feels the blood warm his cheeks.

 _Oh._ He thinks _, she's nervous too. I wonder why?_

Desperate to break the thick tension, he stuck his hand for a casual greeting and a handshake. "Hello Ms. Hawkeye, it's been a long time. I'm looking forward to working with you to better the quality of our programs here at CSPA."

Riza looks weary at first, but as quick as it came over her, it is replaced by a look of fierce determination. "It's nice to see you too, Mr. Mustang. I can't wait to see what the future has in store." She shakes his hand firmly, and looks him deep in the eyes. If it wasn't for the fact that Grumman was literally five feet away from this whole encounter, Roy would have pulled her into a strong hug by now. Rather than act impulsively, he gently lets go of her hand and gestures towards his office.

"I have a feeling we have a lot to catch up on. Shall we step into my office for a bit?" Roy asked, walking towards the door, waiting on her response. She nods in agreement, and begins to walk towards him. He feels his heart beat rocket as she neared him, taking powerful strides in her patent stiletto pumps.

 _Dammnit Roy, now is not the time to be thinking about how great her legs look in those heels!_ He takes a deep breath and attempts to ground himself before she gets any closer. He opens the door and gently placing his hand on the small of her back, leads her into his office.

Grumman watches the pair with a wry smile as they settle into the office and close the door behind them. He'd been cooking up this scheme for a long time, knowing both Roy and Riza were not only extremely compatible coworkers and a trustworthy team to lead his school, but he also knew they had history. Honestly, the office had been all too boring for a couple of years. It was time he brought in a little project of his own to keep things new. Besides, whatever happens, he's sure those two will make the school flourish under their care and keeping. It was a win/win situation.

Now he waits for it all to unfold, and hopes they don't find out.

 _Watch out world, here they come._

* * *

AN: Hello! Interrupting the Elric's backstory to bring you some Roy/Riza backstory! I love these two with all my heart, so I'm super excited to see where this goes! Thanks for reading, y'all rock!


	3. Chapter 3: Passe and Retiré

_**Passe/ Retiré:** Withdrawn. A position in which the thigh is raised to the second position en l'air with the knee bent so that the pointed toe rests in front of, behind or to the side of the supporting knee. _

* * *

_Knock_

 _knock_

 _knock_

"Ready for our rounds, sir?" Riza asked through the door of the vice Principal's office, pressing her ear against the door to listen for any signs of movement. A moment passes and there's no answer.

She tries again

 _knock_

 _knock_

 _knock_

"Sir?" She calls out, hoping he's asleep or somewhere else within the main office. She'd really rather not deal with a corpse so early in the morning. "We have our rounds today, hope you're ready to go."

She waits a beat before turning the knob. The light is off and there's no one inside.

 _How odd. It's 7:15 and there's no sign of Roy having come into his office today_. She turns to leave, softly closing the door behind her.

She spots his secretary, Rebecca, chatting idly with the economics teacher, Jean Havoc. She starts to walk briskly towards her desk before she catches a closer glimpse at their body language. She hesitates for a moment, thinking she'd rather not interrupt the obvious flirtatious banter they've got going on. However, the moment passes and she remembers the larger problem she's got at hand. Deciding that any information on Roy is more important than some office flirtation, she strolls over to Rebecca's desk, her heels warning the lovebirds of her approaching presence.

"Good Morning Rebecca. Havoc." At the sound of her voice, they instantly separate, creating a ten foot range of distance in two seconds flat. _Impressive_ , she thinks to herself as she walks by them, a sly, knowing smile gracing her features.

She finds a certain joy in teasing those two and watching the way they constantly tiptoe around each other's feelings. Their flirtation yet hesitation towards romantic relationships remind her a lot of the dynamic Roy and her had back in their Drachma Dans Theater days.

 **~ flashback ~**

Winter, Five Years Ago

Dance studio complex somewhere in Drachma

 _The steady beat of the music was reverberating though her body, melting in with the counts as they went over the same section for the third time. They had the steps, the transitions, the textures and the style down pat. In fact, it was technically perfect, to no one's surprise. But it was too formal, too stiff._

 _The partnering, although seamless and fluid, was missing… something. A spark, or a connection that would take their dancing from fantastic to absolutely transcendent._

 _Roy and Riza had been partners for a little over three years, and yet this was the first time they had ever run into this problem. Their duets over the years have all been masterpieces, not only choreographically, but evocative due to the emotions the two are able to portray through their movements and their artistry._

 _Roy sets her down after their final lift, paying extra attention to her landing. He lets her go as he takes a deep breath, resting his hands at his hips._

 _"Did that feel any better?" He asked, lifting his right hand from his hip to push it through his dark, unruly hair. He's looking at her with wide eyes, completely open and… honest. She knows this piece has been frustrating him, but it seems to have burrowed deeper than she had originally assumed._

 _In the depths of his never-ending obsidian pools she could see the reflection of determination and ambition, yet there was something marring the edges. Frustration, the fear of failure and barely-contained anger lit them from within more brightly than ever. Gosh, she could get lost in those eyes, so dark and full of promise…_

 _"Riza?"_

 _She snapped out of her daze, shaking her head to try and clear the fog in her mind._

 _Oh gosh, she was staring again._

 _Oh no,_ _ **he noticed.**_

 _She quickly ducks her head down, hoping to hide the blush that was quickly warming her cheeks._

Crap.

Oh crapcrapcrap. Ok, ok, breathe Riza, you can cover this up. You got this. Don't let him see the fear in your eyes.

 _She takes a deep breath and collects her wits before speaking up:_

 _"Ah, yeah so sorry about that, I was just going over a transition in my head! What was it you asked?" She chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck, hoping he doesn't catch on to her slip up._

 _He gives her an odd look, but doesn't press it. "I had asked if that felt any better for you." He sighs and rubs at his temples. "There's just something about it that feels off somehow, and I just can't figure it out."_

 _He looks off to the side, deep in though while crossing his arms across his chest and biting at his bottom lip, working it between his teeth._

 _She steals a quick glance before looking away and trying to focus on anything but Roy's face._

Riza my goodness, pull yourself together! We're supposed to be coming up with ways to fix this problem, not checking out our partner.

 _She looks back over at Roy who has now begun to pace around the room in an effort to inspire his thought process. His arms are no longer crossed, but rather alternating between swinging loosely by his side in time with his stride or gripping at his own hips._

 _The furrow between his brows grows deeper as the seconds pass and his irritation grows._ He's really beating himself up over this _, she thinks as she wraps her arms around her body and lets herself relax into her right hip._

 _There's got to be something we can do, something that will help us break this funk._

 _And that's when she realizes what their problem is._

 _"That's it." She says softly. "I've got it.I know what we have to do, how to fix this." She states a bit more loudly, the sound of her voice amplified by the empty studio. Her sudden outburst visibly spooks Roy, who almost ran into the wall in complete shock._

 _"Wha-" Roy begins, but she doesn't wait for him to finish his question before grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of the studio in a run._

 _"Riza, what are you doing? Where are we going?" He asks, panic coloring the edges of his voice._

 _She laughs, a wonderful, melodious sound that bounces off the walls and smooth linoleum floors of the hallway._

 _He smiles softly as he runs beside her, suddenly not caring where they go. He relaxes into her hold, and slips his wrist out of her grip, briefly squeezing her hand before lacing their fingers together._

 _It takes everything she has in her to keep her pace even and her breathing steady._

I wonder if he knows what he does to me _, she thinks as she squeezes his hand back and continues to lead them through doors and down staircases._

 _She doesn't say anything nor answer his question because before they know it, they've made it outside onto the patio._

 _"Riza…" Roy begins, concern clear in his tone "Why are we outside? In the dead of winter?" He lets go of her hand and looks at the frozen patio and the snow-powdered landscape around them before coming back and looking at her skeptically._

 _"I know it seems a little irrational-" She looked over at him with an apologetic look on her face, wringing her hands together in an effort to replace the warmth of his hand. "But bear with me here." She looks around at the winter scene that surrounds them and takes a small breath. "I thought that maybe we could use a change of scenery, and a break from the mirror. We know that we have the choreography down, perfectly I daresay. We've worked extremely hard on those lifts, on our transitions and on every technical aspect we could possibly drill."_

 _She takes a breath before going on, the chill of the Drachman winter slowly seeping into her bones. "But we have to get out of the mirror. And not just that, but out of the studio space and out of our heads. We're not connecting because we've focused too much on the steps and not the feeling behind the steps. Was it not you who said 'I don't dance for the accolades, I dance for the inner feelings'?" She looks at him, her golden orbs meeting the inky depths of his black eyes in a nonverbal challenge._

 _"We've done it before and I know we can do it now. So let's get out of our headspace and just dance goddamnit! Come on!" She grasps his hand and pulls him flush against her chest, into the beginning pose._

 _The warmth of his chest against hers is warm and familiar. She can feel him looking at her, so she looks up to meet his fiery gaze._

There's something different about the way that he's looking at me _, she thinks to herself. She doesn't have time to ponder because before she knows it, they've begun to move._

 _There's only one word that come to mind: magic._

 _Pure, unadulterated magic._

 _The air between them seems to crackle as their bodies cut through the frigid air and space, forming shapes and hitting their movements with a sharp precision that would put any sniper to shame._

 _His hands leave a trail of flames in their wake as they move from her back to her arms to her shoulders and all over her body. Her heart picks up the pace as the warmth of his fingertips sear through the thin material of her leotard. He pulls her back against his front as he crosses his arms over hers and cradles her into his chest before swinging her entire body up and over his back in a seamless arch. Her body lands on his back perpendicularly, creating a graceful arch and extension of her arms and legs. He rocks their bodies from side to side, smooth and steady before transitioning her body into a quick pose before the next lift. She gently drops onto her left knee on the floor next to him, her right leg extended out on a diagonal. She reaches out to him and he meets her in the middle, pulling her up and into his chest, her legs wrapping themselves around his waist and her arms winding around his neck. He holds tight onto her left thigh as his right arm makes his way across her back, latching at her waist. She nuzzles her head into the side of his neck, feeling his pulse thundering under the surface of her cheek as he spins them around a couple times. He stops and tightens his grip on her body as she lets go of her arms around his neck and arches back, the tips of her fingers ghosting the cold surface of the patio floor. He dips her down and around before bringing her upper half back up and shifting her body on to one hip. She gently slides off his side and onto the floor, latching on to his lower calf and sliding her body through the space between his legs. She pulls herself up into a sitting position, legs extended in front of her body and her back turned towards the audience._

 _She feels the absence of his warmth and electric touch the moment they separate. She holds her pose as he finishes his last two counts of individual movement and slides over to her. He fits around her like a puzzle piece, and she embraces his warmth and his soft, lingering touch. The tension between them increases tenfold, adding textures and layers they've never had before. He spins her body around to face him, and Riza pauses before stretching her arms up and over, arching her back slightly. His hands rest right over her ribs as he lifts her slightly up and back, extending the line of her arms and legs. They hold the final pose for a few counts before Riza collapses onto his lap, throwing her arms around him and nuzzling her face into his neck as he lays back, her body atop his own._

 _The steam rising off their warm bodies and the clouds coming from their mouths as they struggle to catch their breath rise into the frozen air. Riza's warm breath ghosts over the soft skin of his neck and he shivers lightly. She freezes and lifts her head slowly from the warm solace of his pulse to meet his gaze._

 _If she was cold, the fiery intensity of his gaze thawed her in an instant. They look deep into each other's eyes, hazel and black holding contact for as long as they can before the moment is over._

 _Oh my gods._

 _I'm lying on top of Roy Mustang and making intimate eye contact with him for more than five seconds._

 _I'm lying on top of Roy Mustang. On top of…Roy Mustang…Roy._

 _Her eyes suddenly widen as she breaks eye contact and hides her face back in the space between his neck and shoulder. She can feel her face burning as she lies there, held in by Roy's strong arms._ _He chuckles softly, amused at her sudden bashfulness. Of all people, Riza Hawkeye is the last person he ever expected to see in this kind of embarrassed, nervous state._

 _She looks back up at him, eyes big and cautious, cheeks slightly pink._ _"Well, I think we broke the curse of the piece." She says, smiling lightly._

 _"As if there was ever any doubt." He smirks at her before bringing his hand off her waist to ruffle her hair._

 _She laughs at this and rolls her body off of him and onto the floor next to him. She starts to get up to leave before he grabs her hand. "Wait-" His fingers link with her own and and stop her from leaving. "Stay here for a while, just a little longer. I haven't been outside in ages, and it's a beautiful day." He looks over at her eyes sincere and pleading._

 _She contemplates for a second before succumbing to his puppy dog eyes. "Alright, alright, fine. But if we get sick, it's your fault." She lays back down and turns her face towards him._

 _"Hm if I remember correctly, it was your idea to dance outside in the first place." He counters, turning his face to look at hers._

 _They look at each other with straight faces for less that five seconds before bursting into laughter. They keep looking at each other and laughing, unable to keep a straight face for longer than a second before breaking._

 _"Thank you, Riza." Roy says in a more somber tone. Riza looks over at him, meeting a pair of honest dark eyes. She smiles softly, feeling as the heat begins to creep up over her neck and onto her face._

 _"It was no problem, Roy. I knew we had it in us all along, we just needed a good jostling."_ _She turns to look at the winter sky, as a sigh escapes from her lips._

 _He studies her for a bit longer before looking up at the sky as well, cataloging as many angles and images of this moment as he can._

* * *

AN: Hey cool cats! I've decided to dive a little deeper into Roy and Riza's history, so I thought I'd do a fun little flashback to their partner days. I had lots of fun writing this, and I hope you like it! I was able to reference some lifts and things from my past and I'm very excited to share this with y'all! As always, please let me know what you think by dropping me some comments below, and fave/follow if you're vibing with it! Thanks so so much readers, and enjoy some Royai! :)

lots o' luv,

ABF


	4. Chapter 4: Soubresaut

_**Soubresaut** : when a dancer performs a quick jump from two feet and lands on two feet in fifth position, traveling slightly forward during the jump_

* * *

~Present day~

"Uhhhhh Riza? Earth to Rizaaaaaa"

She briefly registers a flesh toned blur weaving rapidly in front of her face, before a light touch taps at her nose. Riza blinks rapidly, eyes focusing on a retreating hand and a giggly Rebecca.

"Did you- Did you just _boop_ me on the nose?" She asks, a bit incredulously. Rebecca nods her head rapidly, hands covering her mouth.

"Yep! I couldn't help it! You look so cute when you're daydreaming! You were even _blushing_ this time!" Rebecca winks and waggles her eyebrows at Riza, reeking of suggestion and mischief. She walks around her desk, making a big show of sitting at her chair. She crosses her legs and sits forward, anchoring her chin in the palm of her left hand. She continues to wag her eyebrows at Riza, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Riza's eyes widen, a little horrified at being caught in an uncharacteristic position. Not that daydreaming is the worst thing to be caught doing, but in front of Rebecca? Gosh, she'd never hear the end of it.

Before Rebecca has a chance to tease her any further, she decides to play her at her own game. "You know, you and Havoc looked pretty cosy back there." She says, over-dramatically placing her finger at her temple. "What was it you were talking about? The weather? The minutes from the last staff meeting? The results of the short program in ladies' single skating?" She feigns innocence for a few seconds, watching the younger woman squirm in her seat. She then shoots her a mirror image of the face she had made minutes before, complete with waggling eyebrows and all.

Riza laughs, to Rebecca's relief. "Anyways, I was going to ask you earlier, but have you seen Roy? I can't seem to find him anywhere and we're due for rounds in 10 minutes."

Rebecca giggles lightly before taking a sip of her coffee. "Ah that Roy, so dedicated yet so flighty. He's been here since six, and has been taking his coffee in the garden for the past-" she looks down at her watch for reference, "uh the past forty-five minutes."

Riza doesn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved at the reveal of Roy's location. She doesn't get to linger too long on the question before she remembers the purpose of this whole conversation.

"Of course. Thank you Rebecca." She nods quickly to the other woman before speed walking out of the office and towards the garden.

...

...

...

 _Aaaaaaaand there's no one out here._

 _Where is that troublesome boss man of mine?_

She quickly scans the expanse of the garden before her eyes land on a figure stretched out on the benches beneath a small tree.

"Mustang!" Riza calls out as she heads in his direction. She doesn't try to mask the irritation in her voice as she hurries towards him. He looks up at the sound of her voice, fear etched clearly on his face.

"Oh uhh heyyy Ms. Hawkeye, what brings you here this lovely morning?" He says, as he slowly sits up from his relaxed position. He avoids eye contact with her, bringing his right arm up and rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. He has yet to make eye contact with her, and she's loving the fact that she's genuinely intimidating him right now.

 _Good. He knows I'm angry._ She takes a deep breath and looks at him, eyes hard and eyebrows furrowed. Before she can even begin the wonderful rant she's been brewing for the past half hour, he's turned away from her, busying himself with some sort of shrub. She huffs in irritation and walks closer to where his is, hoping to be an arm's length away in case he tries to make a run for it, but before she can reach out and grab his arm, he's facing her again.

They both freeze. The distance between them much smaller than it was a minute ago. Much much smaller.

 _Oh my._

 _He's_ ** _really_** _close._

She can see herself reflected in his deep, dark onyx orbs. In fact, she's close enough to see the kaleidoscope of colors created by the garden surrounding them. She's staring, she knows she's staring, but honestly given the fact that he hasn't made any effort to move, she doesn't care.

He's staring, and he's staring hard, his eyes like an open book. He's looking at her so earnestly, so honest that she can't help but duck her head to stare down at her feet. The dizzying rush of emotions and the thundering pulse in her ears does little to calm her down. In fact, it just makes the blood rush to her face, coloring her like a tomato.

He chuckles lowly, clearly amused. "Oh Riza, you never fail to surprise me." His voice is soft, barely above a whisper and yet she can hear it as clearly as if he were shouting.

She looks up at his statement, a question gracing the tip of her tongue. As she is about to question him, he pulls a small cluster of daisies from behind his back. Before she can do or say anything, he gently moves a piece of her hair back and away from her face before nestling the daisies in the space behind her ear.

"Beautiful." He says, his eyes never once leaving her face.

She can't quite tell if he's still referring to the flowers or if he's turning on the charms, but she can't say she minds it. In fact she's pretty sure she doesn't mind it, given the frantic way her heart is racing, and the sweat collecting at her palms.

If she was blushing before, then she must be completely red by now. _He hasn't looked at me this way since Drachma_ she thought to her self as she attempts to maintain the little amount of composure she's got left. She focuses on her breathing and keeping her face soft and neutral, since acting out on her feelings would be completely irrational, not to mention unprofessional.

He smiles brightly, his eyes sparkling with mirth and.. something else she can't seem to place. Something she hasn't seen in years, back when she was young and naive, skirting around tough conversations and avoiding awkward situations. Back when she could only articulate her feelings through dance, and the fluid movement of her body.

She's pulled out of her thoughts by the sudden absence of the jet haired man.

 _Damnit not again!_ She whips her head around to look towards the gates, but before she can take even one step towards the exit, she's pulled back towards the school and into a strong pair of arms and a solid chest.

 _Oof._

"You know if you wanted me to hold you, all you had to do is ask, Riza." Mustang says, eyes alight with cheer. He lets go of her and looks wistfully towards the campus. "But now is not the time for confessions and romance my dear, we must get on with our rounds. The competence of our programs depend on our insightful eyes! Onward!"

He offers her his arm, and she accepts, linking her arm through his and feeling the warmth from his body radiate towards her own. As much as she loves to berate the man to finish his paperwork on time and keep him from slacking off, she can't help but secretly love this side of him, the sincerity and playfulness he reserves for her and only her.

 _Oh Mustang, what are you doing to me?_

 _..._

Rebecca takes a sip of her coffee as she looks out the window of the vice principal's office, which happens to have a clear view of the scene unfolding in the garden. Mustang takes Hawkeye's arm in his own and leads them both towards the performing arts complex on the south side of campus.

She watches as the pair makes its way down the sunlight corridors, laughter echoing off the buildings. A voice comes from behind her.

"I'd be lying if I said that those two aren't my OTP."

She turns her head to look at the person in the doorway. There, resting his shoulders against the doorframe and nursing what she knows to be his fourth cup of coffee is none other than Jean Havoc. He sets his mug down on Mustang's desk and makes his way towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin gently on her right shoulder.

"I know" she responds "I've been rooting for those two since their days in the Drachman Dans Theatre. I've got the bottle of bubbly aging to perfection in my cabinet, waiting for the day when they confess their undying love for each other."

Havoc's chuckle rumbles lowly in his chest, vibrating against Rebecca's back. She sighs contently and leans into his embrace, taking another sip from her mug.

"I guess all we can do is wait and see how this will end" She says, toying absentmindedly with the watch on his left wrist. "And we've got nothing but time."

* * *

AN: Saludos my lovely peoples! I am having the most fun writing these and honestly I can't wait to write the rest of their stories and thoughts and fluff OHMIGAWD the fluff! Anyways, please review, follow or fave if you're feeling the fic! And if you're not well ok then thats chill you do you stranger!

TYSM!

xoxoxo,

ABF


	5. Chapter 5: Saut de Chat

Saute de chat: a grand jete where the front leg developpes instead of brushing straight.

* * *

The condensation trickled down the mirror in rivers, the heat rolling off the dancers' bodies in waves of sweat and vapor readily feeding the stream. The moderately brisk Wednesday morning did little to combat the stifling heat coming from Dance Studio #3, which housed the hellish environment that was Ballet Ensemble. The highest possible level of ballet was taught by none other than Mrs. Izumi Curtis, who worked her students to their limit and carried the reputation of "Devil Woman" with utmost pride.

"Dancers!" Izumi strolled through the rows of exhausted students, shouting at their folded over forms with a dangerous glint in her eyes "or should I say weaklings? Because those entrechats and entrechat six's were sloppy and lazy. You cannot sacrifice technique for height!" She whacked at the leg of a student who had foolishly decided to sit on the floor.

"You there, are you tired?" She asked, voice saccharine, coated with faux concern. She extended a hand towards the boy, who reached towards her in earnest, hoping for a leg up. She took his hand and yanked him up hoisting him over her shoulder like a prized kill. "WELL TOO BAD, YOU WON'T REST IN THIS CLASS UNTIL I SAY SO, AND I SAY WE DON'T REST UNTIL YOU'VE REACHED YOUR NEXT CLASS!"

She sets him down on his feet, and the boy looks at her, face devoid of any color, eyes as wide as a deer's. Standing in front of him, she looks him over slowly, as if scanning or deconstructing him. He tension in the room is high, anticipation palatable as everyone watches attentively.

After what seems like forever, she speaks up.

"You look like you could use a pick me up." She cocks her head to one side, eyes never once leaving the student's face. With a huge toothy grin (Ed swears she has actual fangs, but Al doesn't believes him) she points towards the door.

"Go run ten laps around the campus, and don't come back until you're wide awake, understood?" She pauses for dramatic effect. "Goodbye now!"

She turns around and heads back towards the front of the studio, surveying the rest of her class as she passes through the lines of students. "Is anyone else feeling tired? Or can we continue with the rest of our class?"

Everyone nods vigorously, except Ed who is too busy fixing his hair in the mirror. To be fair, his braid had started to fall out about halfway through barre, and he hadn't had a chance to fix it until now. Oblivious to the sudden stillness in the room and the dozens of pairs of eyes on him, he continues to adjust his hair, re-braiding it and slicking down his bangs… except for his one favorite strand of of course (which is NOT an antenna, he doesn't get why everyone keeps calling it that!)

Satisfied with his look, he turns around only to come face to face with Mrs. Curtis herself, who's face held no emotion except her blazing eyes, which seemed to bore through Ed's skull.

"Are you done preening, Elric? Some of us have a class we'd like to get through."

He took a moment, looks around at the faces of the other dancers, including Al's face of sheer panic, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He's really taking a gamble here, defying Mrs. Curtis but honestly, he likes living on the edge. It may not be the wisest move, and he may not live to see next period, but he's young and foolishly brave, so he might as well go for it.

Mrs. Curtis' eyes narrow into dangerous slits.

 _Who does this child think he is?_

She opens her mouth to say something but before she can, he stands up and walks, no _saunters_ over to the middle of the room, and stands in a tight fifth position. The room is completely silent. Deafening really. Everyone's eyes are as wide as saucers. Except Al, who is rubbing at his temples at his brother's antics.

"Ready when you are, teach." He says, eyes gleaming with amusement, the smirk on his face never once wavering under Izumi's potent glare. Everyone's jaw drops. No one speaks like that to Izumi Curtis and gets out alive.

She walks over to where he's standing, eyes blazing with the promise of a challenge. "It's like that today, huh?" She says, coming to a stop in front of Ed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Since you're so ready, let's skip center combinations. Today we're going to focus on our advanced jumps. You can all thank Mr. Elric here for the next hour from hell. TO THE CORNER!"

Ed had never seen teenagers, or anyone for that matter, scramble so quickly to get somewhere. There were limbs everywhere and somehow there was a lone ballet shoe left in the middle of the black marley floor. Rushing wouldn't make his point, he was going to milk his act of rebellion for as long as he could, so he made his way over to the line of students with the pace of a beachgoer on a hot summer day.

" _Brother_!" Al hissed across the room to him, eyes wide with disapproval and arms frantically waving him over. Ed made no move to change his pace or his attitude. Instead he winked at Al before finally making it to the line. Mrs. Curtis said nothing, unmoved by his display of disobedience. She turned to look at the class as a whole, silent and simmering.

"We'll start off simple, _chasse grand jete, grand jete, saute de chat._ Two at a time, starting from the corner. Count yourselves in." She pauses to select the music, standing by the sound system

A light grand allegro plays from the speakers as the first pair makes their way from corner to corner, strong legs unfolding, slicing through the air, powerful and light all at the same time. Ed disinterestedly watches, leaning his elbows against the barre.

 _She's starting off slow today,_ he shrugs his elbows off the barre and moves closer to the corner. He can't help but wonder what she's got planned, what horrors lie underneath the surface of the fiery, dark surface of her eyes. He looks up at Al, who's been glancing back at him with concern and a light amount of panic.

He meets his brother's eyes and smiles, hoping to ease Al's nerves a bit. He really loves his brother, but sometimes he worries more than he needs to. Especially when it involves Ed. But if he's being honest, he's glad that he has Al. After their mother passed away and their good-for-nothing father left them behind, Al was the only one he had. They were there for each other when no one else was. And Winry.

 _Always WInry_. She's been a pain in his ass for as long as he can remember. Apart from Al, Winry was always there to comfort him whenever waves of sadness hit him like a train. If it wasn't for Winry, he doesn't know where he'd be.

Before he can get too deep, it's his turn to go across the floor. He feels Izumi's eyes boring holes into his back and although he's just a little terrified of her, he's too far in. He has to prove her wrong, not just for his pride but for his well being… _if he fails_ , she shudders internally and pushes away the thought as he readies himself for the grand allegro. _Let's fucking do this._

 _—_

"Alright, not bad, not bad. Your _ballon_ could use some work, and you could all work a little more on your extensions and your lines, but overall it was… adequate. Anywho, time to bring out the big guns. We're going a little off book today. Take a good breath because it's time for some switchleaps." Izumi pauses to accommodate for the chorus of groans and horrified gasps as the students process her words. She smirks, drinking in the dread that fills the room.

"Ladies, nice and simple _chasse prep switchleap_ , stay on the same side, no alternating. And gentlemen, let's hope you've got some jump left in you because today we're perfecting your turning switchleaps! " Izumi's glee is almost infectious…except the glimmer in her eyes borders on murderous and her smile which is just a fraction too wide.

"Ladies, feel free to try turning them too, but only after you've proven to me that you can do standard switchleaps! Alright, we'll start as soon as I press play. Boys, at the back please, and as always, count yourselves in!" She claps twice, and swiftly turns on her heel to walk away from them.

Everyone's eyes follow their teacher as she jauntily walks, almost _skips_ to the sounds system and selects the song with just a little too much enthusiasm. Ed and Al turn to look at each other, eyes wide with fear.

"Turning-" Ed starts

"-Switchleaps" Al finishes. They both stare in disbelief at the floor for a bit, the silence between them surprising.

" _Fuck_."

"Brother!" Al yelps and whacks him upside the head. Ed whips his head up and glares at his… _loving_ brother.

"Goddamnit Al, I know, I know! How am I supposed to do turning-ANYTHING if you keep HITTING ME UPSIDE THE HEAD?!" Ed hisses at Al who flushes a bit in embarrassment before exhaling a triumphant huff and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well maybe I wouldn't have to hit you if you didn't swear like a sailor!"

"Well that's not for you to decide, is it?! Besides, it's almost our turn and you're distracting me." Ed aggressively whispers at Al, teeth bared, eyes blazing. Al staggers back a little, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open.

 _Shit_. Ed falters a little bit, the guilt steadily creeping in. His looks at Al apologetically, shocked at the venom in his own voice. _I went too far,_ he clutches at his damp t-shirt, pulling at the stretched collar. _Al was only trying to help me and I always have to go and ruin it._

"Whatever, just focus on that turning switchleap for now, brother." Al rolls his eyes and lightly punches Ed's shoulder, trying, but failing to suppress a small smile.

Ed releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Oh Al, you always know how to push my buttons, don't you? It's almost as if-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Al grips his bicep in his arm and pushes him into line with a surprising amount of force. "Hey what the heck was that for?" Ed bristles, not a fan of being tossed around like a sack of potatoes.

" _Shhh_ , not now brother! Mustang and Hawkeye are here! They're standing in the corner and they're looking right. at. us." Al's eyes flicker to the back corner where indeed stands two very well dressed and very distinguished members of the school administration.

"Today's review day, isn't it?" Al nervously picks at the callus on his thumb, trying to focus on anything but the two looming shadows. He drops his hands and looks down at his feet, as if willing them to make him proud.

Ed wraps a reassuring arm around Al's shoulder, squeezing him a little tighter for good measure. "Listen Al, you're going to do great. Remember these little check-ups are nothing more than for show. Show them what you've got and you'll be fine" He lets go of Al only to reach both arms over his head and bend left and right, stretching out his obliques. "Besides, they didn't just give us these spots, we earned them. So just prove them right, remind them why we're the youngest members of Ballet Ensemble." He flips his braid over his shoulder and pivots away from Al with as much sass as he could muster. Which knowing Ed, is quite a lot.

Al just watches as Ed stands right behind the last couple, getting into position. He glances over at Al and raises an eyebrow as if to say "Well, are we gonna do this or what?" Al breaks from his small panic and runs over to him, almost tripping on his own feet in an effort to get into the prep. Ed looks over at him, the corners of his mouth raised into a smirk.

The boys look at each other and nod, counting themselves in nonverbally, in perfect synchronization. Both boys take off, muscles poised, legs whipping through the air with no effort at all. They do perfect switchleaps, one right after the other, and its almost perfect.

Almost.

 _Take that! Look at these perfect fuckers! Just one more before I crash into the barre, one more._

He quickly estimates the distance he has left with the small glances of space he gets between revolutions. _I'm putting everything into this last one, it's gotta be fucking fantastic._

He goes into the last chainee combination, legs bending at the knee, muscles rippling, all anticipating the release and the seconds of flight in which his legs would scissor against each other into a perfect split position in the air. _Kodak moment, lets go!_

Everything is going well…until it's not and next thing he knows, he's landing face first into the wall, his body groaning in protest at the impact against a hard surface.

 _Ouch_. He rubs at the spot where his forehead hit the wall, trying to alleviate the sting of pain and the sting of humiliation. And that's when he hears it. The slight creak, the woosh of the tack releasing a large frame, the collective gasp of everyone else in the room.

 _Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit._

He whips his whole body around and throws himself towards Izumi's falling diploma. His body makes a soft thud as it lands on the sprung wood floors, all wind knocked out of him. He lays there, a bundle of limbs and diploma cases. His eyes water as he tries to get his breath back and soothe the dull pain from his shoulder blades. He blinks away the tears and looks up into soft golden eyes that match his own.

They offer him a soft smile and an outstretched hand. Ed takes his brother's hand, slowly lifting his body from the ground and into a sitting position. From this angle, he can clearly see everyone's faces. A solid half of the class is still looking at him with wide eyes and dropped jaws, while the other half refuses to make eye contact, faces red and shoulders shaking with laughter.

He glances over at the far corner, trying to catch a glimpse of the administrative duo. He makes eye contact with Hawkeye, who looks at him with motherly concern and a small twinkle of amusement. He can tell she finds humor in the situation, but is more concerned with his well-being. Mustang however, is almost looking through him. The deep set line of his lips and the grim expression almost seem genuine…until Ed meets his eyes and sees the mirth and tears threatening to overflow.

 _Typical_. Ed huffs and stands up, walking over to Izumi, whose face has transitioned through the entire rainbow before landing on red. Pure red.

He offers the frame to her, refusing to make eye contact. He keeps his eyes glued to the floor in front of his feet, choosing to perish at her hands rather than wither from her acrid, hellish glare. The hands holding the frame start to shake as the pause grows. _Why isn't she taking it? … And why is it so quiet?_

He snaps his head back up, only to be met with the sight of a laughing teacher. _Laughing? Wasn't she gonna kill me like, two seconds ago?_ His eyebrows furrow in thought, looking over at Izumi's shaking frame. Shaking with laughter, he might add. She holds onto her knees as the joy spills out of her mouth in chortles.

"Teacher, I-"

—

"EDWARD!"

He snaps his head up, eyes readjusting to the bright light of the afternoon sun. The first thing he sees are a pair of concerned flaxen eyes so similar to his own. And they're really close. _Extremely_ close.

He only gets a second to yelp in surprise before an apple flies across the grassy lawn and nails him right on the head. A bright, white flash of pain darts across Ed's vision from the impact, knocking his balance enough to have him fall on his back.

"What the shit?"

"Brother!"

He turns his head to the side, the scratchy blades of grass tickling the hollows of his cheeks. He blinks slowly, head still reeling from the apple attack, and spots her.

A few feet away, Winry is angrily stalking towards him, today's lunch cradled in her arms, suspiciously missing her usual apple. Tendrils of a dark aura coil out from around her- _wait_.

He rubs at his eyes, hoping its some weird mirage or trick of the noon sun. His eyes focus on her once more, just in time to register the lunch tray flying towards him at lightning speeds. He rolls out of the way right before the tray hits its target… which happens to be his flaxen-haired, decidedly tender head.

"Shit, Winry what the FUCK?!"

"I've been calling you for like, a minute! Are you ignoring me?" She stops and cocks out one hip, eyes sharp as razors and mouth set in a deep frown. "You know ignoring me never ends well for you, Ed."

She looks down at him, all sharp elbows and disappointment. He rubs at the bump on his head and looks up at the blazing blonde above him, pouting in self-pity.

"Sorry Win," he gives her his best apologetic smile. "I was too caught up in my thoughts again, I guess." He moves his hand off the growing bump to the nape of his neck, sheepishly scratching at the back of his head.

She gives him a long, hard look, eyes searching him for a while before she folds, and plops herself down right next to him. She grabs the apple from where it had fallen and rubs the dirt off with her sleeve. She hums happily as she takes a huge bite out of it.

Ed huffs unhappily, obviously upset with her displays of "affection". He looks over at her once more, before she turns to face him, cheeks full of apple.

He gives her a look of exasperation and sighs.

 _Jesus, Winry._

 _"_ So, what was it you wanted to tell us before you tried to murder me with a demon apple?" He shoots a pointed look at Winry, who smiles as brightly as ever without a hint of guilt.

"Oh that! Well, some exchange students from Xing are coming in next week. Hawkeye called me in earlier today to give me the lowdown. Apparently the three of us have been assigned to be their guides and buddies for the rest of the semester…or at least until they get used to the scene here…"

"What? Why us?" He clenches his fists, uprooting chunks of grass from the lawn in his anger. He starts to get to his feet, muscles groaning from under him. "I bet you Mustang's behind this! I oughta give him a piece of my mind-"

"Brother!"

Al grabs at his sleeve, pulling him back down to the damp grass. "Hmpf. I think you should go back to the studios for a bit, brother. You could use a little emotional release."

Ed stills, fists clenched at his side, still full of grass.

 _He's right. I'm too wound up. I shouldn't be yelling at them like this._

He sighs, releasing the grass shreds from his grip, and slowly makes his way to his feet.

"You're right." He reaches up to run a hand through his golden strands of hair tugging through the tangles in his bangs. "You're always right, Al. I'm gonna go see if Teacher will let me use her studio for the lunch period." He ruffles Al's hair, and gives his younger brother a large grin.

"And we'll discuss this Xing thing afterschool, alright Win? You have to give me the rest of the details so I know what I'm being forced to do."

He gently flicks at her forehead, giving her a soft smile. She smiles at him knowingly, the warmth in her blue eyes causing a pleasant swell of flutters in his stomach. He hoists his backpack over his shoulder, and gives them once last smile before he starts walking towards the dance complex, eyes full of promise, shining with excitement.

* * *

AN: Heyo! Sorry for the long pause between updates, I got a lil caught up with homework and what not but I'm baaaaaaaack! Anyways, lemme know what you think, review and fave and follow if it tickles your fancy! Thank y'all for reading, you guys rock my socks! I'm thinking of doing a songfic for the next chapter, so if you have a song suggestion or a request, let me know! I'm always open to some feedback! Anyways, peace out!

xoxo,

ABF


	6. Chapter 6: Breathe Me

AN: Hi guys! Breaking a bit from the usual author's note to let y'all know that this is my version of a songfic! The song Ed dances to is "Breathe Me" by Sia ! Let me know what you think of my hybrid songfic/dancefic and as always, follow/fave if you're feelin it! This is just one of many dance/songfics, so be prepared! As always, I will take any suggestions for songfics you guys would like to see!

S/o to Gaaralover69 for their suggestion, I'd love to incorporate History Maker into this fic! My YOI lovin' heart is 100% here for it!

Anyways, please enjoy! For now have some angst, Ed style ;)

xoxo, ABF

PS: *spoiler warning* Hughes will NOT be dying in my fic, he's too good for this world and deserves a long and happy life!

* * *

 ** _Breathe Me_**

* * *

Ed's backpack hit the floor with a soft thud, echoing in the dark and empty dance studio. The air was calm and smelled of Tiger Balm and old sweat, but that's the way he likes it. He kicks his shoes off and pads over to the light switch, bathing the studio in warm tones.

He looks at himself in the mirror, feeling the dread seep into his bones. He looks like shit… his hair's stringy and tangled from this morning's ballet class, and the bags under his eyes are as deep as they as dark. He runs one pale hand through his hair, feeling the resistance from the tangles in his bangs.

 _What is happening to me?_ He sighs deeply, feeling the lingering tension and exhaustion that had settled deep into his bones as his hands drop limply to his side. He looks at himself again, trying to find the fire that once burned brightly behind his golden eyes, but he only sees dull, watery eyes and a small, unassuming frame.

He shakes his head vigorously, trying to rid himself of that image. There's no way he looks that dejected. He can't, he's one of the youngest students to ever get to every high level class in his first year, he has to prove everyone wrong, let them know why he deserves to be in those classes. He can't just give up, he can't fail. He makes eye contact with his reflection once more, eyes desperate and pleading.

He can't.

He screws his eyes tightly shut, thankful for the solitude of Izumi's dance studio. He's never been this frustrated with himself. Sure, everyone gets into ruts and blocks, but he's never had it this bad. He's been working on a piece for a couple of weeks now, but no matter how hard he tries to loosen up and find inspiration, it's gotten nowhere. Every time he tries to add to it, he ends up repeating the same four counts of eights over and over and over again, stuck on the same loop.

 _Step drag step step chug stop_

 _Step drag step step chug stop_

 _Step drag step step chug stop_

 _Step drag step step chug stop_

He can't feel it anymore. The choreography that once spoke to him, siren song to every fibre of his being was silent. And he hated himself for it.

He bent forward into downward dog, his hamstrings and calves groaning with the stretch. He shifts back and forth, moving his head in circles and alternating lifting heels, inhaling deeply as he feels his dormant muscles turn pliant once more.

He walks his hands back up to his feet, holding his arms down to the floor, feeling the weight of his head on his shoulders. _What am I doing wrong?_ He wonders, the disappointment heavy on his chest. He needs to have this piece ready for his modern class by the end of this week. It's not for lack of effort, he's been trying to break this freeze for her two weeks, but he hasn't gotten anywhere. He knows Mr. Hughes won't be too harsh on him, but he can't present this piece as is. He shifts his balance between the balls of his feet and his heels, feeling the warmth of a good stretch buzz through his limbs. _If only I knew what I needed, then maybe I wouldn't feel like I'm burning out._

Rolling back up to standing, he takes a second to let his eyes adjust. And that's when it hits him. It's such a simple idea, so simple that he feels like a dunce for not having thought of it before. The reason he wasn't connecting to the piece was because he was reaching for something that just wasn't there.

The assignment was pretty open ended. All Hughes asked for was a solo that "told us who you are". He jumped at the assignment, quickly constructing a narrative of the confident, self-assured powerhouse dancer who wowed everyone with his talents. The choreography was brilliant, but the sentiment was shallow and he found it harder and harder to continue the narrative he had constructed. It wasn't all false, in fact he really was pretty confident in his dancing and he was considered a powerhouse dancer, but if he was presenting his true self, it fell flat.

The song he had chosen reflected the showy, cocky demeanor he emulates in class, but it's not enough to inspire him. It's not _him_.

He ran over to the sound system and plugged in his phone, thumb quickly browsing his music library for the solution. Rather than sit here and wallow in self-pity and dancer's block, he was going to try something new. That is, a new song. A song that could more accurately represent him. In this moment, he needed raw, emotional honesty.

After a few seconds of searching, he finds the song he was looking for. He hopes this will help him get out of his funk. The soft, sad notes of the piano fill the space, a haunting melody that calls to his entire body. Movement floods his mind, and clenches his heart in its hands.

 _This is the one._

He rushes out to the center of the room, overcome with the urge to move and feel the floor beneath his feet, the air around his body, the fluidity of the music as it flows through him. He feels almost weightless, the emotions coursing too quickly for his brain to comprehend. But it's not about his brain, he can't overthink, or think at all really.

He has to _feel_.

The gravely voice of the singer floods the room, pure and raw and honest. He starts to improvise slowly, letting his body work through his hesitations, shoulders tense and movements cut short by his second guesses. He feels the swell of the music settle onto him like a warm embrace, sending shivers down his spine from the pure sensation of it all. He feels it all, everything he's ever felt at one, rushing out of him, breaking past the levees.

 _Help, I have done it again. I have been here many times, before_

He thinks about the desperation he felt, reaching for inspiration that just wasn't there. He starts running towards the mirror, towards his reflection of pain, and stops right before he reaches it, arm held out to the side, chin tilted up. He lets his arms fold down to his side and move his body forward, slumped right over his knees, head facing down. He whips his head back up, moving his right elbow sharply towards the wall and letting it rebound through his body before using that momentum to drag turn his body around to face the back, arms carving a path down his side. He takes a deep breath before throwing his whole body into a run, prepping himself for a huge switch-arabesque, hitting the split in mid-air right on the beat of the piano. He lets the strength of his jump carry him in the air for a moment, a breath, before coming down into a deep lunge.

 _Hurt myself again today, and the worst part is there's no one else to blame_

Burning out, giving up, losing hope. Burning out feels like nothing and everything at once. Nothing feels right, everything is off and anything you do makes it worse. It's grabbing at something, a small spark and having it fizzle out in your grasp. It's skating on thin ice, every step a gamble. The frustration builds and builds and builds and suddenly, you can't feel anything. You're numb. All the passion and love you once had is gone, every step feels like a chore. It's his number one fear. Not even serious injury, no it's falling out of love with dance.

He shudders and his breath seems to catch in his throat as his chest tightens in pain. _No_ , He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. He's been working really hard to avoid anything like that, but lately it's been a little harder to keep himself away from that edge.

He lets his body collapse, in three breaths. _One. Two. Three._ He's on his side, knees tucked in close to his chest. He straightens both of his leg at once, using the momentum to pull his body into an upright position, right hand on his heart, left hand on the nape of his neck. He holds this pose for a beat, then lets it melt, concaving his upper body and letting his right hand travel to his shoulder as the left winds its way up and around his head to cup his right cheek. He lets the motion take him slowly to the ground, lying on his back as he transitions onto his right side to go into a shoulder stand, his legs holding a perfect center split for a beat. He slowly brings them together, his feet flexed and muscles tense as he settles into a perfect vertical line before collapsing and rolling down his spine, similar to a forward roll.

He sits facing the back, both arms anchoring him to the ground at his sides. He takes a deep breath, letting it show through his movements. He rocks his body to the right, to the left and then rolls his head in a slow, languid circle, his whole upper body joining in the cyclical movement. He sits back up, snapping the last of the circle closed on the first of the incoming beat.

 _Be my friend, hold me. Wrap me up, unfold me_

He snakes his head around to the front, using that momentum to propel his body forward into a plank position, rocking his body forward and backwards, shifting weight between his hands and his feet. He meets his own golden eyes in the mirror, alight with a fire that he hadn't had moments ago. He sinks down onto his right side, and swiftly rolls on his back and then his knees for a second. He pauses and takes a quick breath, building up strength to push off his right foot, left leg slicing above his head. He is supported by his left hand as his right arm and right leg finish the shape of a floor leap in mid air. He lands on his feet, reeling with the raw force and power behind that Valdez. It knocks him off his balance, feet stumbling backwards, trying to gain traction. Instead of falling, he goes with it, turning towards the direction of his momentum and running with it. Literally.

He runs, first couple of steps clumsy and uncoordinated, still trying to regain his balance. He preps _run run_ and launches himself off his right foot, left leg slightly bent, preparing for impact. His arms circle around from his back to the front as if gathering the air in his arms. His left leg comes down to the ground first, toes and and shin kissing the ground lightly, his impact basically soundless. Keeping with the motion, he quickly rolls on his back and lands in a deep lunge, left leg bent, right leg extended behind him, shoulders broad and strong. On the downbeat he thrusts his arms back, energy coursing through his fingertips as he slowly brings them down, gently brushing the smooth expanse of his clothed thigh before climbing up, up above his head. He tilts his head back, feeling the drops of sweat reroute their path into his hairline. His bangs are damp against his forehead, where a few strands have crafted patterns of curls atop his skin.

He threads his fingers together, palm to palm and breathes life into his lines, electricity coursing through his veins. The sensation alone sends shivers down his spine. _This is what I've been missing, my spark._

 _I am small, I'm needy_

Keeping in time with the percussion and the lilt of the singer, he folds his arms, _one two three_ , to frame his face, fingers coming apart to gently dance across the surface of his skin. He shifts his hips to the front, keeping his left leg bent and his right leg straight, but pitching his body forward. Is it here that he realizes that his hair has long fallen out of his braid and now falls loosely around his face in messy, wind-whipped layers. His hands are still resting on his chest, so he brings them forward, reaching for that warm feeling he missed. He dips down to a kneel for a quick second, before springing back up into a preparation for a triple pirouette. He bursts out of his turn into a right split leap, arms raised high above his head, eyes facing up towards the sky.

 _Warm me up_

 _and_

 _breathe me._

He lands that last leap, still dizzy from the pure emotion he'd been feeling. He opens his eyes, not quite sure when he closed them. He stumbles back down to Earth, legs weak with exertion, vision fuzzy. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, ragged and warm against his arms.

 _I did it, I really did it. I broke my funk_. He ran his hands through his long golden hair, fingers snagging on tangles and the remains of a braid, but he doesn't mind it. His hair reflects the whirlwind of emotions swirling around through his heart and soul. _Free._ He closes his eyes and savors the sweet taste of freedom on his tongue. He moves for a bit, letting the music take him, feeling the wind whip around his body and fit itself into every space he creates. He's spinning and leaping and moving and feeling, free like the very wind that carries him through leaps and jumps. And then he's resting on something really solid.

 _Wait_ …

When did he get down to the ground? He blinks a few times and takes in his surroundings. He seems to have fallen down and rolled onto his back, arms and legs splayed out in an X on the floor. He looks up at the ceiling before looking towards the mirror and taking in his own shocked expression reflected in the shiny surface. His hair was sticking up on end and the sweat soaked cleanly through his class shirt. _I look like a drowned cat_. He burst into laughter at the thought of himself as a drowned cat, chest feeling lighter than it had in days.

"Thank you, I really needed that." He says to no one in particular. He really is thankful, and really sweaty, but immensely grateful for the sudden absence of the crushing weight on his chest and around his heart.

* * *

 _…and breathe me…_

Mustang's lunchtime patrol is stopped short by the soft notes of a piano and the rough vocals of a song drifting over from dance studio three. He's curious, mostly because students aren't allowed in the dance studios at lunch time during the off season, and because Izumi Curtis would never dance to a contemporary song like the one coming from her studio. He's won over by his innate curiosity at this mystery danseuse and his desire to find out which student is so carelessly breaking his rules. He's marching up to the studio when he suddenly blindsided by Maes Hughes and lead into his small office instead.

"Don't worry about studio three, I've got my eyes on it today." Hughes looks at him, eyes sparkling with an untold secret and a mischievous glee.

Mustang groans. As much as he knows Hughes loves to talk, he's great at keeping secrets, and it doesn't seem like he'll be getting the scoop anytime soon. His shoulders sag a bit, disappointed in the abrupt interruption of his small mission, but he knows Hughes means well. He settles into a comfy chair in the corner of the small office, crossing his right ankle over his left knee and leaning back into the soft cushion.

Hughes looks at him, chuckling slightly at Mustang's pouty face. "Sorry to cut your mission short, I just know that the person in studio three is deep in an emotional, spiritual journey and doesn't need any distractions or interruptions right now." He smiles cheekily, eyes closed behind the square frames of his glasses.

Mustang can't help but chuckle slightly at Hughes' little acts of rebellion. He's known the man for ten years and he still hasn't changed a bit. They met when they were both dancers at the Drachma Dans Theatre, both young and full of optimism and joy. Hughes retired from the company a few years before he did, leaving dance for his new life as husband and father. He met Gracia when she became an apprentice for the company, and it was love at first sight. They both stayed on for another year before retiring, getting married and moving to a nice family home in the suburbs. He worked a few odd jobs and did a couple of freelance gigs until Mustang recommended him to fill the spot of modern dance teacher at CSPA.

The job came at the perfect time, because not one month into his new job, the Hughes family announced the arrival of their baby girl, Elicia. Mustang had never seen anyone so excited for the birth and existence of a child. Although she was born a couple of years ago, he still treats every nugget of news and stories about his beloved family with the same level of enthusiasm. His desk is covered in pictures of Gracia and Elicia, and toddler's masterpieces cover nearly every inch of his office's walls. To say he was a proud father and husband was an understatement.

But Hughes has also been the most supportive of Roy's steady climb towards the a position on the Board of Education. He's been offering guidance and tips on the happenings inside the Central School District, ever since they both realized things had been getting kind of… fishy.

There had been talks of budget problems and deficits for as long as Roy has worked at CSPA. However, things had gotten awfully quiet about two years ago, when a man named King Bradley took over the Board. Suddenly budget details and meetings were kept under wraps, and no one really knew what was happening in the school district. But with that same silent treatment, arts programs were losing funding, schools were closing and teachers were being laid off by the hundreds.

Things were not ok, under the carefully crafted façade, things were falling apart. There have been little to no leads, but they're both sure there's some sort of money laundering or ponzi scheme happening under the radar. They don't know anything for sure, and cannot do anything until they have enough evidence, so they're working with a theory and a gut feeling.

"Have you heard anything from Grumman?" Hughes' question snaps him out of his thoughts. Grumman had gone to the Central School District to try and gain intel and gather evidence or information on the happenings within the beast. He's been gone a couple of days, but neither Roy, Hughes or Hawkeye had heard anything from him yet.

"No, nothing yet. Although he should be back in a few days, so I assume we'll hear from him then." Mustang sighs heavily, resting his elbow on the armrest. They'd been waiting for days and the frustration and anticipation was starting to get to him. _Patience is a virtue, Roy._

"Well all we can do is wait, right? I'm sure he's got something to tell us. We'll just have to make ourselves busy in the meantime, right? I'm sure you've got enough paperwork to buy yourself with, right?" Hughes looks over at Roy with feigned innocence, the glare glinting off his glasses giving him away. Mustang audibly groans, sliding down in his chair.

 _That was a low blow, old friend._

"Who are you, Hawkeye? Besides, I'm always caught up with my paperwork, I don't know what you're talking about." He sits back up in the chair, adjusting his long black coat over his shoulders. Hughes just looks at him with knowingly, eyebrows raised suggestively, before bursting into hearty laughter.

"Yeah ok, sure. Whatever you say sir. Well since you're so caught up, I might as well tell you all the new things Elicia has done this week!"

He goes off onto his tangent, eyes glittering with the love and pride of a doting father, his enthusiasm rivaling that of a small puppy. Mustang chuckles lowly to himself, and makes himself comfortable. Knowing Hughes, he'll be here for the rest of lunch.

And he was.


	7. Chapter 7: Cabriole

_**Cabriole** : An allegro step in which the extended legs are beaten in the air._

* * *

 _Riiiiiiiiing_

Mustang walks into the staff office, a little worse for wear. He knew Hughes was a talkative fellow but he had forgotten just how…enthusiastic he got when talking about his family. Not that he resented him for it or anything, but _man_ , it really takes a whole lot of energy to keep up with that chatterbox. He runs a hand through his hair, unruly layers rustling in the cool breeze. It takes everything in him not to rub at his eyes. He feels a yawn coming on, eyes closing to welcome the stretch and relief it would bring his tired body. And that's when the faint smell of roasted beans wafts over to him.

 _Coffee beans, cinnamon, mmmmm coffee, coffee, coffee._

He runs towards the staff kitchen, eyes alight with excitement and the promise of Riza's signature brew.

He closes his eyes, inhaling the bittersweet, euphoric scent of his post-lunch cup o' joe. The warmth of the beverage seeped through from the mug into his palms as he cradled it in his hands. He put the mug down on the counter, going into the staff refrigerator for the half and half. Contrary to popular belief, he does not take his coffee black. Well, unless he has a large pile of paperwork to catch up on. He closes the refrigerator door before setting down the carton of cream next to his precious coffee. Grabbing a stirrer from the cup on the counter, he masterfully pours the perfect amount of cream into his strong brew, stirring the liquid until it turns into the perfect shade of caramel.

He brings the mug close to his face, breathing in the delightful scent he'd grown to love over the years. Taking a small but slow sip, his shoulders visibly relax as his elbows come to rest on the countertop behind him.

 _Mmmmmm, just how she used to make it back in Drachma._

He closes his eyes, savoring the nostalgia and the familiar taste dancing across his tastebuds. The warmth sitting low in his stomach and growing in his heart had little to do with the temperature of the beverage. Memories of lingering, blazing touches, gentle flurries, cool against his hot skin and soft, blonde hair flashed in front of his eyes, rendering him almost breathless.

He snaps his eyes open, realizing he'd been standing in the middle of a public space, lost in the world of his daydreams. He looked down at his hands which had been tightening steadily around the mug, knuckles almost white with tension. Eyes widening in surprise, he sets the mug down on the counter before he breaks the thing and hurts himself or makes a mess. Placing his hands over his heart, he feels his erratic heartbeat thumping against his palms, keeping time with the pulse thundering in his ears.

It's been a while since any flashback has hit him this hard before. In the last five years, he's made a certain peace with his past, letting it simmer down to a quiet whisper in the back of his mind. He's occupied his time with paper work and busy work in the name of bettering the school but if he's honest, it wasn't so altruistic at first. The first year he was the modern teacher, he would take out his frustration on his students, quickly earning his the reputation of the hardass demon teacher. Just thinking about his immature behavior leaves him with a flash of residual embarrassment.

He learned from his mistakes, acquiring patience and compassion for the sake of himself and his students, and thankfully snuffed out angry, frustrated flashbacks that left him irritable and snippy. After being promoted to VP, he'd basically avoided having any type of flashback and had settled them all down into a nice, nostalgic buzz. Everything was calm. Until Riza came.

He grabbed his coffee, clutching it to his chest as he hurried out of the kitchen, hoping to make it to his office without bumping into anyone. He'd rather deal with these emotions within the safe confines of his office, and finish his wonderful coffee in quiet peace but before he could make it to his door, he turns the corner and almost runs headfirst into someone, nearly spilling his precious drink all over them.

"Oh, just the man I was looking for."

He looks up from the brown waves of his nearly spilt mug into the warm, brown eyes of one Riza Hawkeye and he swears he feels his heart leap into his throat. She gives him a soft smile as she takes in his flustered state. She looks at the mug he's still clutching to his chest and looks away for a second, blushing ever so slightly. He takes that second to try and regulate the tempo of his pulse and relax his shoulders before she looks at his once more with her knowing eyes.

She clears her throat and looks back up at him with direct eye contact. "I see you've gotten an afternoon caffeine boost which must mean you were just talking to Hughes, weren't you?" The corners of her eyes crinkle as she chuckles lightly under her breath, the corners of her mouth curling upwards slightly.

He lowers the mug from his chest and rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand. "I was actually, just escaped. Took up the entire lunch period talking about Gracia and Elicia. You know how he gets."

The pair shared a quiet laugh, both having been half-willing victims of Hughes' chats.

"Well, I'm glad you've had a coffee to perk you up because Grumman just got back from the school district and he's hoping to speak with both of us as soon as possible."

The laughter is caught in his throat, his smile wiped from his face as his pulse spiked. _If Grumman is requesting us so suddenly, he must have urgent news._ He looks over at Riza, her mouth setting into a straight, tense line. They had both been waiting for any news from Grumman while he was away and had been slightly worried about the tense silence that had been coming from the principal for the last wing of his trip. They were relieved to hear he was back, of course, but nervous for the information he's gathered and what they may learn. There was a change happening soon, they could both feel it. The air was charged with frustration and disappointment from the other schools around them, and the radio silence from the district is sure to have alienated many. The information Grumman could have might just spark the change. And they were ready for it, come hell or high water.

"Lead the way." He follows her lead, as they made their way down the hallway towards Grumman's office in silence. They reach the door, the nervous energy surrounding them like a fog. He can feel his whole body tense up, his free hand clenching and unclenching. Taking another sip of his semi-forgotten coffee, he looks over at Riza, eyes searching her for any sign, for any words, for any tells.

Riza looks back at him, jaw clenched and eyes sharp. She takes a deep breath, her eyes closing and brows furrowing as she mentally prepares herself for the meeting ahead. Roy feels a sudden need to take her into his arms and hold her safe within the circle of their warmth, but he doesn't act on it. He knows her, knows that she doesn't need that right now. Apart from getting yelled at, hugging her would only throw her off. She's centering herself to the earth, to the situation, to the moment. This is when she is at her strongest, and he can't help but stare in awe at this beautiful, strong woman in front of him.

He doesn't get to stare long before her eyes slowly open, taking in the smooth, polished chrome of the handle of the door in front of her. She looks back at him, her left eyebrow slightly cocked and the corner of her mouth turned up in a crooked smirk. She reaches out and gently lays her hand on his forearm, never once breaking eye contact. "To hell and back?" She asked, voice quiet yet firm.

Roy nodded, eyes hard and back ramrod stiff. "To hell and back." The air between them was thick with anticipation and 'what ifs', and more questions than anyone could ever answer. But they know that whatever answers lie beyond that door they've got each other, to hell and back.

* * *

Ed leads the way to their favorite place, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. The small clearing between a few willow trees offered shade, quiet and a solace from the hectic world of high school. The three of them- Ed, Al and Winry, had been coming here since they started school a couple of months ago. At first it started as a place for Ed and Al to wait for Winry when she was working on a sculpture or a project, and then Winry started to wait there for the brothers to get out of rehearsal so they could all walk home together. Then they later started coming here together when they needed solace or a nice place to talk.

Since Ed and Al's parents were out of the picture, the pair lived with Winry and her grandmother at their family home. Home is a term he would use loosely, since the property is mostly studios and attached rooms, as well as a large gallery that hosts local artists once a month. The Rockbells were old family friends, and they were more than okay taking the boys in after the departure of their good for nothing father and the untimely death of their mother. Luckily, Pinako cares for the boys as if they were her own grandchildren, and so the trio has lived thick as thieves for almost half of the boys' lives.

They've been there for each other through everything. They've cried, laughed, fought, been sick, and found their passions together. Ed and Al were there when Winry debuted her first sculpture, and Winry was there when the boys performed their first mini dance recital in their backyard. The amount of unconditional support and love was almost overwhelming. But lately, Ed has been a little confused.

He's always been close to Winry, and knows almost everything about her, but lately it's like his eyes have been opened to a whole side of her that he hadn't noticed before.

Like the way her hair shone like spun gold in the afternoon sun. Or the way her eyebrows would furrow in the middle when she was focusing really hard on a piece. Or how she would twiddle her thumbs when the conversation turned tense. How her eyes would sparkle with untold mischief when she insulted him. Her sweet scent that catches on the cool breeze in the mornings. Honestly, he could go on and on and still find new things to marvel at the next day.

"What up, pipsqueak?"

He's knocked out of his thoughts by a rouge slap to the back of his neck, and a wide smile from the agitator.

"Dammnit Winry, can't you just tap me on the head or shoulder like normal people?" He glares at her as he rubs the sore spot on his neck. "What took you so long? I've been out here for twenty minutes already."

She stuck her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout, eyes wide and full of amusement. "Awww was widdle Eddie all alone in the big bad woods? Besides, I had to meet with Mr. Garfiel to set up studio times for midterms. You know how he is."

Ed rolls his eyes, slightly annoyed by her taunting, but understanding the reason for her later arrival. "Fine fine, whatever. Since you're here now, you can tell me about this Xing thing you mentioned earlier." She opens her mouth to protest, but cuts herself off, face scrunching in confusion as she looks all around the clearing.

"Where's Al?" She asks, left eyebrow raised and arms crossed across her chest. "He's never late for these meetings- OH MY GOD. ED. DID YOU KILL HIM?" She grabs handfuls of his shirt in her fists as she rattles him around, yelling about how terrible of a brother he is for killing Al. He tries to hold on to the ground, but the dirt crumbles under his desperate grasps. He groans aloud, both at the exasperation with the ground and the continuous rattling by way of Winry, so he grabs onto both her wrists and pulls her off his shirt and into his chest.

"Jesus, Winry stop shaking me like I'm a rattle you're gonna give me brain dama-" He's stopped by the sudden realization of the lack of distance between them.

 _Oh, she's close._ ** _Really close._**

Her eyes, wide as a deer in headlights, are looking at him, through him and all over him. The pure blue color of her irises is even more beautiful up close, catching onto the soft light filtering though the leaves of the willows. He's close enough to see the light freckles that dot across the bridge of her nose and over the high points of her cheeks, and the faded scar from the one time she fell off her bed and hit her cheek on the nightstand when she was 8.

He can also see how the pink in her cheeks is steadily growing more and more red, as she starts to snap out of the spell they've been in. She looks away before yanking her wrists out of his grasp and sitting down on the grass, a few feet away from him.

She laughs awkwardly, face still hidden behind a golden curtain of hair. "You're so funny Ed!" She suddenly stops laughing, going completely still and completely silent. She looks at him through her fringe, eyes glinting darkly. A scary aura settles over her and Ed, as she continues to look at him. "You pull anything like that ever again and I'll make sure you don't have any hands to grab me with, understood?" she says, voice deep and much darker than it was a few seconds ago.

He gulps loudly, suddenly very afraid of the girl sitting across him. He nods quickly, not wanting to upset her any further, and because he knows that her attacks are not to be taken lightly. She waits for a bit before she seems satisfied with his fear, and whips her hair back over her face and onto her back. Her bright smile is back, as if nothing ever happened. Ed, of course is still a little pale.

"So where did you say Al was?" She looks at him, the picture of innocence and good intention. He shakes his head a little to snap himself out of it.

"Oh yeah, he should be here in about a minute or two. He had a quick meeting with Mr. Hughes about his solo assignment." Right as he finished speaking, there was a soft ruffle a few feet away. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear." He cups his hands around his mouth to amplify his already more than loud voice. "Al, we're all here!" He leans back into hands and stretches his cramped legs out in front of him as Al walks in through the curtain of foliage.

"Hey brother, hey Winry. What did I miss?" He says with a smile, setting his backpack down on the ground gently before sitting himself down on a soft patch of grass. He looks quizzically at Ed and Winry, who have kept an odd distance between each other after the "incident". He makes eye contact with Ed and cocks an eyebrow as if to say " _What happened here?_ "

Ed shakes his head lightly and crinkles his nose as if to say " _Not worth retelling now, I'll fill you in later."_ Al nods his head in understanding before shooting his brother a quick wink, and turning to face Winry, who seemed to be spacing out a bit.

"So Winry, what's this about the Xing exchange students?" Al asks, resting his chin on his palms. She's snapped out of her space travels and back into the real world. She blinks a few times, refocusing her eyes before looking at Al's patient face.

"Oh that, yeah. So Hawkeye came up to me the other day and told me that we would be having exchange students from Xing coming in at the end of the week, and that her and Mustang feel it's best if we were their guides, since they are around the same age as us." She looks over at Ed, half-expecting him to have exploded already. He's not, surprisingly, but rather is looking over at her with a slight scowl but nothing more.

She takes this as a sign to go on. "There are three students- a boy and two girls. Two of them are dance majors and the other is an art major. The boy, Ling, is going with you Ed. The girl, Mei, is with you Al. And the other girl, Lan Fan, is with me!" She points at each of the boys, voice raising a bit at the end with excitement. She feels some uneasy energy coming from Ed's side, and looks over to find him looking at her with an even deeper scowl than before. She can tell he's biting his tongue and keeping his anger in check, and for that she's immensely grateful. She shoots him a quick smile before continuing.

"Now don't worry, they won't be with you 24/7. They are all apparently _very_ talented in their own right, but they do have to go through a quick trial period to find out their levels and placement in class. We will be with them in the mornings, during lunch, and during our passing periods. I'm sure they'll be in some of our academic classes, but we won't know their schedules until their second day, when they've been placed. Other than that, we just have to make sure we're available if they need to contact us, and just be a helping hand as they figure out CSPA."

Ed's significantly more calm after hearing the details of this job he was selected to do against his will. He relaxes a bit more into his palms, rolling through his shoulders and releasing some of the tension there. He looks up at Winry, who's looking back at him with a worried expression on her face, as if she's waiting for him to say something stupid or aggressive.

He laughs at the deep furrow that's settled between her brows, and both her and Al look at him as if he's got a few loose screws. This of course just makes him laugh harder. Al and Winry look at Ed and then back at each other, confusion written all over their faces. When he recovers enough breath to speak, he looks back at them before explaining himself.

"You're both so worried about me, and your faces were the same and I just couldn't help myself! But anyways, this whole exchange thing is annoying, don't get me wrong. I guess if it's for the sake of our school's reputation, then I don't mind as much." He shrugs, head titled to the side in the picture nonchalance. "I just hope this kid is cool, I don't want any losers dragging me down."

"Any losers like yourself you mean?" Winry shoots at him, snickering under her breath. Ed whips his head to look at her, eyes blazing in anger. "What? Do you seriously think a braid, leather pants and a bright ass red coat make you look cool? First of all, it's too hot out for a coat or leather pants, and second of all, you're not fooling anyone with those platforms you had built into your boots. It's okay to admit you haven't hit your growth spurt yet, pipsqueak." She looks at him with faux pity, bottom lip stuck out far and eyes twinkling with laughter.

He immediately takes her bait, and in an instant the words are coming out of his mouth in a roar. And to be honest, she understood only little of it because most of his comebacks were drowned out by her and Al's loud laughter.

To anyone walking by, the three of them would make for an odd sight. A slightly small, golden haired kid on his feet yelling until he's red with anger at a younger golden haired boy and yellow haired girl who were grasping at their bellies, tears of laughter rolling down their joyous faces as they rolled around in the soft grass in-between the shade of three willow trees.

* * *

AN: Hey guys, did ya miss me? Sorry about the long pause, I had a few essays and projects to attend to this past week. But ANYWAYS I'm getting to the plot a lil more, hopefully soon (it's a work in progress/go with the flow type of thing)! The Xing crew will be coming in suuuuper soon! Please let me know what you think, fave/follow if you haven't already! Your support means the world to me, and I always love hearing from you guys. It makes me super duper happy tbh

Side note, I just finished reading _Name of the Wind_ (the first of the Kingkiller Chronicles) and I'm IN LOVE. Seriously in LOVE. So I'm still recovering from that one and also watching _Haikyuu!_! and trying to do homework and finish _Free! Eternal Summe_ r and wow okay I'm making myself dizzy lol. Welp, that's all folks!

xoxo as always,

ABF :)


	8. Chapter 8: Piqué

_Piqu_ é- Pricked, pricking. Executed by stepping directly on the point or demi-pointe of the working foot in any desired direction or position with the other foot raised in the air. As, for example, in piqué en arabesque, piqué développé and so on.

* * *

The air in the principal's office was thick with tension and unspoken words. The blinds were drawn and the sunlight came in only through the smallest of openings around and through the slots of the stiff shades. Grumman sat at his desk with his head in his hands, shoulders drawn tightly up and against each other. In the soft light, his silhouette looked small and unassuming, frail even. The soft click of the door latch behind them broke the spell of silence, but Grumman still did not move.

Roy and Riza glance at each other, eyes meeting to share a concerned look. Riza cocks her head to the left, as if to say _I've never seen him like this, could it have been that bad?_ Roy's right eyebrow shoots towards his chaotic hairline, _It must have been something substantial to have left him like this._ The sharp sound of Grumman clearing his throat interrupts their nonverbal conversation. Their eyes dart over to the principal as he slowly brings his head up out of the cradle of his hands. His tired eyes look at them behind small round shades, the shadows creating a hallowed effect upon the older man's face.

"Mustang. Hawkeye. Please, sit." He motions towards the two chairs in front of his desk as he stands and walks towards the window. _What is going on?_ Riza thinks to herself as they take tentative steps towards the chairs, faces devoid of most all emotion. Roy steps in front of her and pulls out the rightmost chair, a vision of chivalry. Riza rolls her eyes, but takes the seat anyways, grateful for the small wave of calm that washes over her at the sight of his soft smile. He pushes her seat back in, lingering fingers brushing over her shoulders as he makes his way to the seat on her left. Her heart stops for a second as she feels the heat his touch leaves in its wake. She can see Roy's smirk out of the corner of her eyes as she regains her breathing and it doesn't help to stop the blood coloring her cheeks and the tops of her ears. He chuckles softly under his breath, clearly amused at her bodily reaction. Before she has a chance to wipe the stupidly attractive grin off his face, Grumman speaks up.

"It's worse than we thought." He says, twirling his pocket watch around in his hands. He doesn't turn to look at them as he speaks, choosing to lean against the large windowsill instead. "We were right to be weary of Bradley. Things at the district were too quiet for comfort when I first arrived. Everyone seemed to truly believe that things were great too, no problems or anything. It wasn't until I walked into a hushed conversation between two board members that I was able to get any intel on the truth." He pauses to take a deep breath and look down at the golden surface of his pocket watch. "I'm certain Bradley and the rest of the board are involved in something dark. I wasn't able to get a name or an organization, but it's definitely criminal. While I was there, Bradley kept getting messages that he would take immediately in his office, and every once in a while he'd get…visitors." At this, he turned back to look at the pair, eyes bleary and tired. He sighed heavily as he made it back to his desk and sat back down into his chair.

"At first I didn't think much of it. They looked like any other run-of-the-mill business men and women: clean cut, elegant, pretty unassuming. It wasn't until the third or fourth time someone came by that I noticed. As soon as these visitors came through the door, everyone was up and ready to assist them. I thought it was just common courtesy, and everyone was quite polite until I took a good look at the secretary's hands as she handed them their tea. Her hands had been shaking quite strongly, and she hadn't looked up from the floor, not one time. Once she handed over the tea, she ran away like a dog with its tail between its legs. And it wasn't just her, everyone acted as if these people would kill them if they made eye contact or didn't serve them immediately." He looked them both, eyes tired yet alight with curiosity.

"Me being me, I wasn't going to just drop it. So I tried asking around, but most of the answers I got were all reiterations of the same vague statement. It seemed like everyone knew and either they were hiding the truth, or they didn't know the truth. It wasn't until I was talking to one of the members from Western Amestris that I got anywhere. I brought it up nonchalantly as we were in the staff kitchen one morning, and he choked on his coffee as soon as I mentioned the visitors. He looked around and made sure no one was around, and leaned in close. 'Everyone's scared shitless Grumman. We know they're crucial to the operation we've got going, but gosh darn why do we have to get involved with people like them? They're-' "

Grumman took off his glasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Right as he was going to tell me who they were, Raven walks into the kitchen with his assistant and next thing I know, the chap I was talking to is already headed out the door! It's the damnedest thing! All of my other attempts were no better. Anytime I would get anywhere, someone from the top would interrupt us. I gave up for a while until I overheard two members chatting one afternoon, when most everyone was out of the building for a lunch. They weren't saying anything of importance until I heard the words 'drug lord' and 'the program'." His voice dropped in volume with the last sentence, and he looked down at his hands, still clutching his glasses.

Roy and Riza look at each other, eyes wide with surprise. A drug lord? "The program"?

What exactly is going on in Amestris? Riza clears her throat and speaks up "What does this all mean? Is Bradley involved with some sort of drug cartel? Are those visitors associates of this drug lord? Is that where all the district funds are going?" She doesn't speak above a whisper, but the urgency in her words is palpable.

Grumman takes a deep breath before continuing. "I think so. Nothing is certain yet, and I'm pulling on air here, but I am certain that Bradley is involved in something illegal. And not just Bradley, but a whole group of his top board members and superintendents." Roy looks over at Riza, who seems to already be stressed with the prospect of shutting this operation down. _She's already getting too into her head._ Her eyebrows are furrowed and her knuckles have gone white from gripping the edge of her skirt so harshly. He reaches out and grabs hold of her left hand, unfolding it and lacing it with his own. He gently strokes the back of her hand with his thumb, hoping to mellow her just a bit. She whips her head up to look at him, eyes hazy and slightly out of focus. It takes her a second before she realizes that Roy is holding her hand, and when she does, her eyes widen and her cheeks go bright pink. She quickly looks back down to her lap, strategically whipping her hair over her shoulder to create a curtain between them. _She didn't let go,_ Roy mentally notes. His heart swells with joy as she tightens her grip on his hand, holding fast to him as she settles back down.

"So, how are we going to tackle this?" Roy speaks, words loud and full of confidence. The sooner they figure out the plan and their counterattack, the sooner they can get the district back on track, and save the schools from closing.

* * *

The last of the sun's rays settle warmly on Al's face as they make their way home. He hangs back a little bit, letting Ed and Winry settle ahead of him. Usually they would say something and make sure he's right next to them, but today they seem to be absorbed in some sort of argument about cereal and top shelves.

He chuckles softly to himself. _Ah those two._ He looks away from the bickering lovebirds to the beautiful sunset in the distance. He sighs contentedly, heart constricting at the magnificent colors swirling around the large expanse of the sky. Usually he's a lot happier at sunsets, but today something feels…off. He's been feeling this way since class this morning. Although he's plenty good, and he knows he has to be quite good to be placed in the Ensemble class, he's been feeling quite inadequate lately. It's not for lack of trying, and it's not a sudden disinterest in dance or anything, but he feels like he's just not good enough. He takes a deep breath, _in for seven, out for eleven_ and tries to settle his heart and his head.

He keeps walking towards the huge Rockwell complex, heart and head a little jumbled. He stops at the top of the hill, letting the cool evening breeze blow through his flaxen locks. He's at a loss for words. As far as he knows, he's really only gotten like this once, when he was much, much younger and unsure of his love for dance. And thankfully there's not a doubt in his mind about his love for dance… _but what if dance doesn't love him back?_ He tries to shake off the idea, but it's driving deep into his bones. He knows he's good, but he's got a long way to go before being anything remarkable. His turnout is weak, he doesn't have great arches, his hips are shit and prevent him from doing anything too flexible, and his technique could use some work. But he's got heart, and a passion not all have. He closes his eyes and tilts his head up towards the sky, relishing in the last few rays of warm light that splash upon his face. _Maybe I should visit the studio a bit today, dance through these feelings until I understand them._

Winry notices his absence and looks back, confused as to why he's so quiet and so far away. She spots him on the hill, face tilted upwards, a small furrow between his brows. She's about to call out to him before she realizes she shouldn't interrupt his moment of peace. She's glad Ed has already made his way inside, the last thing Al needs right now is an aggressive small teen running towards him. She looks back at him one more time before heading in, a small smile lingering on her face. _He'll figure this out. I know he will._ She walks through the doorway, stopping at the small table at the entrance. She scribbles a quick note to him before running into the living room and tackling an unsuspecting Ed.

Al opens his eyes as the breeze turns a little too chilly for comfort. The sun is almost gone now, and Winry and Ed have made it inside the house a while ago. He jogs down the hill, heading straight for the door. _Was I really out of it for that long? Geeze._ He quickly shuts the door behind him, trying to warm up a bit before he heads into the living room. He shrugs out of his jacket and backpack, hanging them on the hook above the small table at the entrance. He's about to rush inside before he spots a small note nestled under the bowl of keys.

 _The second studio is always open for you. Don't worry about having to come socialize or eat dinner right away, I've bought you some time!_

 _-W_

 _P.S.: Grandma wanted me to tell you she's making stew tonight._

 _"_ Fuck yeah." Al whispers under his breath. He grabs his backpack and runs to the second studio, ready to work out whatever funk he's gotten himself into.

* * *

AN: Hello hello! Long time no see! Sorry about the silence, I've been in a funk + insanely busy but like the Backstreet Boys, I'm back! Anyways, I'm thinking of having Al do a little song/dancefic in the next chapter so yay! Exciting! And as always thank you to all the readers, y'all are ANGELS. I hope to have made a comeback, and maybe get a little more out there in the next few weeks and such. Welp, see ya soon! If you're ~feelin~ it, fave, follow or review pleaaase! 3

Peace out!

ABF


	9. Chapter 9: Brisé

_**Brisé:**_ when a dancer takes off from one or two feet, jumps and beat their legs and ends on one or two feet. Brisé is either done from fifth or fourth position and can travel forwards or backwards.

* * *

"So what's going on with you two lately?" Winry asks, meeting his eyes before enthusiastically diving into her second bowl of stew. Ed looks up, confused at her seemingly out-of-the-blue question. Dinner had been pretty normal and did not prepare him for such a charged question.

He knew he couldn't lie his way out of this one. Winry knew him better than he knew himself, and lying to her would only end in pain (for him). If there's anyone that can sniff out his bullshit it's definitely Winry. Not to mention Pinako, who's calmly observing the mounting tension from her seat at the table. Her sharp eyes would catch him before he even spoke.

He took a deep breath. "Well-"

"It's weird because usually you're the one with the angst attacks and the storm clouds hanging above your head, but Al was acting really off today. Usually I would blame you-"

"HEY!"

Winry snickered under her breath, "…but I can tell it's not just an empathy sulk." She pauses for a moment to eat another spoonful of stew, eyes narrowing in thought.

 _She's right, it's not like Al to be so… emo for lack of a better word. Hie's been weird ever since juries and placement season began. And he's been kind of distant since Mustang and Hawkeye came into our ballet class. Al always puts so much pressure on himself, but is something else wrong?_

He reaches for his glass of water just as Winry slams her fist down on the table.

"IS HE GETTING BULLIED? IS THAT WHY HE'S SO SAD?" Her eyes widen comically, hands coming down flat on the table as Ed fumbles the glass, spilling water everywhere. "WHO COULD EVEN HURT THAT SWEET CINNAMON ROLL HE IS LITERALLY SO NICE TO EVERYONE!? WHO DARES-"

Ed's laughter bursts out of him before he has a chance to hold it back. Winry slowly turns her head to look at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What's so funny? Al could be in trouble and you're laughing?" she crosses her arms over her chest, definitely not amused at his outburst.

Ed sweats, just a little. "No no no, it's not that. I'm not laughing at the bullying, but I don't think that's it." He sighs, dropping his head to rub at his eyes before looking up at Winry once more.

"If I'm right, I think the pressure has been getting to him lately. All the juries and the tests, the random drop-ins from admin, and now the exchange students… I think he's been feeling like he can't meet other's expectations."

He leans back in his chair, crossing his right leg over his left knee. Al has a heart of gold and hates feeling like he's let people down. All their lives he's always been a little more self-conscious than Ed about his dancing abilities, selling himself short time and time again and letting people's comparisons get under his skin. It's not an easy subject to approach, especially when you're the one he's being compared to. He sighs.

"…And I want to help him, but I don't know how." Looking up at the ceiling, he drops his head back and closes his eyes. "He won't believe anything I say to him anyways."

"I'm gonna stop you right there, before you start throwing yourself a pity party." Pinako's clear voice rings through the dining room, knocking Ed back to reality. "This is something Al has to solve on his own, without his older brother holding his hand. This is the only way he can grow and come out of your shadow to be his own person and artist. Give him a little space to bloom, but never stop supporting him." She takes a sip of wine before looking back at Ed, her eyes sparkling with mirth and wisdom.

"Don't worry too much, he's a strong boy. He'll be fine." Her eyes soften a bit, crinkling around the edges as she looks over Ed, at the picture collage on the wall behind him. "You both are the strongest, bravest, occasionally most stupid boys I know. There hasn't been anything life has thrown at you that you haven't been able to overcome." She offers him a soft smile before throwing back the rest of her wine and standing up.

"Well, I think that's enough for me, I gotta go finish up my latest commission." She turns into the kitchen, Den following closely at her heels. "Make sure you clean up after yourselves when you're done!"

Ed laughs to himself, softly shaking his head. Pinako always knew exactly what to say. She's been there with them through everything, and she's cared for them as if they were her own kin since their dirty, rotten bastard of a father walked out on them. Both Winry and Pinako. He doesn't know where he'd be without them.

Winry flicks him on the forehead, breaking the silence.

"So uhhh, are you gonna clean up all this water?" She smirks, gesturing at the huge puddle he created on the table. She giggles and throws a washcloth at his face before making her way to the kitchen.

"DAMMNIT!"

* * *

The grey marley floor was cool to the touch under Alphonse's head, sweat pooling where his skin met the smooth surface. He'd been working for the past five songs, not even bothering to look up at the time. With every new song he played around with a few phrases and some new moves he'd been practicing, but nothing seemed to stick. Well, to be honest nothing felt right, like there was something missing. The first song was too soft, the second too fast, the third too aggressive and the fourth too… bland. He hadn't even gotten through a quarter of the fifth song before he sat down, the frustration blocking all of his improv impulses.

He'd placed his music on shuffle hoping to find something new to groove to, but every song that played had history. And not just history, but old choreography he'd done with his brother. And that's his problem, _precisely, exactly, one hundred percent his problem._

How is he supposed to prove himself if everything he does somehow traces back to his brother? This old choreography? They worked on it together. This song? Ed used it for a solo in the Spring Concert.

Al rolled onto his stomach in frustration, grounding his cheek into the light colored floor. If he can't choreograph something in his own voice, how is he supposed to succeed in this program? Hot, angry tears prick at the corners of his eyes against his will. Is this even worth it? Should he give up while he's ahead? He swallows against the hard knot at the back of his throat, taking a shaky breath and closing his eyes.

No. He will not cry because of this.

He can't let himself keep thinking that way.

He pushes his upper body up off of the floor, walking his hands up until he's sitting on his knees. This isn't the time nor place for an angst attack. He knows he has all these people who believe in him- his teachers, the administration and most importantly he has Winry, Pinako and Ed. His support system since day one.

If they support him, he can try and support himself too.

He's worked hard to get where he is. He's taken years of lessons, he's worked super hard putting in extra hours of practice with his brother. He gave up apple pie for two years just so he could become more lean! If that's not sacrifice, he doesn't know what is!

And he knows he loves dance. At the end of the day, dance will welcome him with open arms… and bruises, burns, cuts and sprains. But what's joy without a little pain? Rubbing at his eyes, he makes his way up to his feet as another song begins to play. The soft hum of a string section blends perfectly with the singer's unique voice.

 _Regrets collect like old friends, here to relive your darkest moments_

Huh, he had forgotten all about this song. He had picked it out for a practice piece with Ed, but it had been vetoed in favor of another more *dramatic* song.

"Typical. _"_ He scoffs aloud. Lucky for him, then.

At last, a song with no blueprints, none of Ed's fingerprints. A song that could be all _his_. A spark of joy buzzed through his fingertips and into his veins, filling him with a fuzzy warmth from head to toe.

All mine.

He slowly makes his way to the center of the room, watching the way his body moves in the mirror. Meeting his own gaze, he feels himself smile at the bright fire of determination burning in his molten gold eyes.

He was going to get through this funk just fine.

 _It's always darkest before the dawn._

* * *

 _And JUMP land wooooosh, let that really reverberate through your body… slide slide, tuck that leg under and now roll and stop! And melt, two, three, four… Fourth! Hands! Jump up! Swirl around let your head hang- and drop, let that leg swing, keep that turnout but whoom!_

Mustang felt the strain of misuse on his body as he moved through the old movement. _Amazing_ he thought, _after all these years and I can still hear the director's voice in my head._ He continued to dance, relying on muscle memory and the sharp, lightly accented voice of the director echoing in his head.

Five years had passed and still his body knew which shapes to form and which beats to hit, which lines to elongate. What it hadn't accounted for was the dull, steady ache from the spinal injury that had effectively ruined his career and cut short his time at the company.

No one had seen it coming. The famed Roy Mustang leaving at the top of his game, why it was all anyone talked about for months! He survived the car accident that could have left him paralyzed or dead with only a minor back injury. A true miracle. But of course he couldn't have waited to get better, couldn't have gone through all the physical therapy sessions like he was supposed to. He just had to push himself over his limit. One herniated disk is all it took to get him out of commission for close to a year. A year, who can take a whole year without dance? A year of feeling the pain of recovery, of wanting to join class full-out but having to take it slow- SLOW.

 _Pathetic_. He felt pathetic. And so he quit. He packed up and moved far away from Drachma, far away from his love, from his passion, from the memories. But never from the pain. He's carried that with him since.

He continued to dance, modifying and marking what his body could no longer do. He moved through the silence, the only sounds from his breath and the brush of his bare feet against the dark marley floor.

A clear yet gentle voice cut rang through the room, pulling from his concentration and knocking him out of a turn. "I remember that one, that last eight count haunted me for months."

He whipped his head around towards the source of the voice. There in the doorway stood Hawkeye, shoes in hand and water bottles and bag in the other. Her smile was soft, neutral even. But her eyes shone with concern and genuine care.

Hawkeye…no, Riza. She was the only thing he regretted leaving behind when he quit. She wasn't just his partner, but his most trusted confidant. The Fonteyn to his Nureyev. One of the most important people in his life, and he just left her. And still, she can find it in her to care for him, to be concerned? He really doesn't deserve her.

He turns to face her, meeting her soft smile with one of his own. "Can't seem to forget it. How long have you been standing there?" He pushes the sweat-damp bangs out of his face, trying to keep his hands busy so she doesn't notice the shaking.

"Not too long, but you seemed like you needed a little more quiet time so I didn't want to interrupt." She frowns as she notices the slight shake of his hands, but doesn't mention it. She bends down slightly to place her shoes and bag down by the door before coming towards him with the waters.

She offers him a bottle which he takes with a grateful nod. "So how did you find me?" he asks before twisting open the cap and taking a few huge gulps. He'd forgotten to grab his water, which she probably noticed since she came prepared.

"I had a hunch. After that meeting I figured you would need some space, both literally and figuratively. And once I saw Hughes heating up your famous five-alarm chili in the kitchen, I assumed you bought yourself a lunchtime slot in his studio." She shrugged as she absentmindedly played with the label on her bottle, the knowing sparkle in her eyes betraying her faux-casual attitude.

He chuckles, heart feeling lighter than it had when he first walked in."You always did know me better than I know myself, Riza." Allowing himself only a small glance at her reaction, he quickly turns around to walk towards the sweat rag he left hanging on the barre.

"I have to, otherwise who would know how to find you when you're avoiding paperwork or having a crisis?" She sasses back, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

 _Touché._ "You got me there." He jokes as he pulls the rag from the barre to wipe the sweat from his face.

"Do you want to take a crack at the duet? Both our levels of rusty combined should equal a passably average attempt." She watches him as he wipes down the sides of his neck.

He visibly freezes. It's been five years since he's danced with anyone. With her. "The duet… are you sure?" He looks at her, hesitation written clearly on his face.

"Well, let's at least try one of the lifts, for old time's sake. How about the one where you throw me across and over your back? But only if _your_ back can handle it, of course." She wrings her hands as she's speaking, obviously as nervous as he is.

He smiles, touched at her concern. "My back should be fine, it's been years. But if you're okay with it, I don't see why not." He takes a look at her outfit, a modest knee length dress and a blazer. "Are you sure you can move in those clothes?"

She shoots him a brief glare before taking off her blazer and tossing it to the side. "Done."

"And the dress, is that ok?" She huffs in irritation before kicking up her right leg and holding it up my her ear. "1. Yes it's stretchy and 2. I always wear shorts under everything, I thought you would have remembered that." She drops her leg down from the hold so she can wind her long blond hair up into a messy yet secure bun. The look she shoots him is nothing short of mischievous, amusement dancing in her amber orbs.

"Alright, alright, forgive me for ever doubting your preparedness." he holds his hands up in mock surrender, a slight smirk playing at his lips. "Lets start from the step chug, three-step-turn slide melt into the cradle and then the lift?" He made his way towards her and the center of the room. "Sound good?"

"Sounds A1 to me, sir." He meets her eyes, noting the complete trust shining through. There really was no one like her in this world.

It's been five years since they've danced together but you couldn't tell. They moved as one, completely in sync even after so long.

 _Three-step-turn, sliiide meeeeelt and cradle_

He moved to stand behind her, winding one of his arms over her chest and resting his right hand on her right hip. His strong chest met her strong back, the warmth from her body bleeding through his shirt and settling comfortably on his skin. As he lay his cheek on her shoulder, he swears he could feel her heart beating in time with his.

In the moment before he swung her over and across his back, she felt completely safe in his arms. She allowed her body to follow his lead, trusting him wholeheartedly. It was almost like being thrust five years into the past. If she closes her eyes she can almost feel the unforgiving northern wind blowing through her bangs.

He rocks their bodies from side to side, smooth and steady before transitioning her into a quick pose before the next lift. She gently drops onto her left knee on the floor next to him, her right leg extended out on a diagonal. She reaches out to him and he meets her in the middle, pulling her up and into his chest, her legs wrapping themselves around his waist and her arms winding around his neck. He holds tight onto her left thigh as his right arm makes his way across her back, latching at her waist. She nuzzles her nose into the side of his neck, cause him to break out into deep joyful laughter, breaking their concentration. He feels her smile against his neck as he holds her tighter, spinning them around a couple times before setting her down gently, still intertwined. Their breaths mingle in the small space between their faces, close enough that he can count the small freckles that dot the bridge of her nose.

"Hey." He tucks an stray strand of hair behind her ear as he looks up into her eyes.

"Hi." She exhales softly, light brown looking into onyx.

"That's about as much as my back can handle for now. Not bad for two rusty old administrators, if I do say so myself."

She laughs softly, eyes falling to look at her hands on his shoulders. "Not bad at all…"

The silence that falls between them is comfortable, soft smiles lingering on both their faces as they lose themselves in their memories.

Suddenly, Hawkeye's head shoots up. "Wait, I've got a brilliant idea. I know how we can get closer to Central and the main district building. We put together a quick group of all the majors, some different grade levels and concentrations, and bring them to the district as an 'Arts Showcase' to show appreciation for the funding." She quickly blurts out, mind moving too quick for her mouth to keep up.

She pauses as she waits for him to catch on. He stills as he processes her words and then it clicks- "Riza, you're brilliant. With the students are up there, we can take the time to observe the board members or snoop around the corridors with an excuse. This is perfect!" He picks up her and spins her once more.

"We'll write a proposal right now and submit it to Grumman by this afternoon. Let's go, grab your things, we'll stop by the kitchen on our way to my office."

She stumbles as he puts her down, laughter bubbling up out of her mouth at the sight of a slightly frantic Roy Mustang. She grabs her bag and her shoes, shutting off the lights as he closes the door behind them.

"Why the kitchen sir?"

"Hughes is a wonderful man but he cannot cook for shit." He says matter-of-factly. "I'd rather not trust the leftovers he traded me for my chili…come on let's go before he finds out." He grabs her hand, pulling her to match his pace.

Her laughter echoed through the quad as they all but ran to the office.

* * *

"Absolutely pathetic."

The woman's cold, harsh words echo through the damp stone room. "It's been six months and you couldn't even complete the one task we gave to you." Her stilettos click against the floor as she makes her way over to a man tied up in a variety of intricate knots. His right eye was swollen shut and his teeth were covered in blood.

"Miss, you don't understand, please-"

"No you're right, I don't understand. I don't understand why you're still alive." She presses her sharp heel into his foot, pausing for a minute as she relishes in the groans of pain coming from her prisoner.

"I've had enough, I'm done here." She steps away from the man, pulling luxe blood red leather gloves from the pocket of her long black coat.

She walks towards the door, looking towards the shadows before stepping through the threshold. "Envy, it's your turn. Have fun, but don't forget that it's your turn to clean up this time. Father was very upset that you made Gluttony deal with your mess last time."

A figure steps out from the other room. "Don't worry about it sis, I got this." A loud _smack_ echoes through the room as they slip on some thick rubber gloves. "Go enjoy your date or whatever."

She chuckles, her pouty red lips curling up into a smirk. "Keep it neat this time, ok? _Au revoir."_ She takes one last look into the room before flipping her long black hair over her shoulder. A bloodcurdling scream is cut off as she shuts the thick metal door behind her.

"Tsk, they always did like playing with their food."

* * *

 **AN:** Hello sweet, wonderful readers! Long time no see! I'm so sorry it's been so long, life has just gotten hella wild and I haven't really had any time to look at this lil fic. But hey, it was recently it's 1 year anniversary, so happy 1 year Virtuoso! Thank you cool cats for reading it and supporting me along the way, you're all amazing! Anyways, I hope you enjoy! xoxoxoxo, ABF


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